


Home is Behind

by Accidental_Ducky



Series: Carrying On [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-29
Updated: 2016-02-09
Packaged: 2018-02-19 06:16:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 48
Words: 91,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2377880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Accidental_Ducky/pseuds/Accidental_Ducky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He tightens his hold on the woman, never wanting to let her go again if it means she's protected from every cruel thing in the world. Is that too much to ask for? That the people he cares for most in this world be treated well and never be put in danger? He could feel tears stinging his eyes now and lowered him and Liza to the dusty floor, leaning against a wall with Elizabeth curled up in his arms. "I love you, Liza."<br/>"I love you too." Dean/OC</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Lawrence, Kansas—Mayson Household**

A yellow-eyed man stands in an infant's room, his scarred and calloused form looking out of place in a room painted bright purple with stuffed animals lining the walls, but he paid it no mind as the infant wrapped her small fingers around one of his own. He has a devilish smile on his face, knowing what the child is to become; having vampire blood running through her veins, mixed with her mother's own demon-human bloodline that stretched all the way back to the source. The infant, a little girl, is barely six months old and already the few teeth she has are sharper than normal.

Yes, this child would do well in his army.

He knew the child's biological father well enough and he was also the one that convinced the vampire to take the girl's mother and, after the child was born, the mother was changed, though she didn't survive the change. The man's yellow eyes show mischief, reveling in the genius of his plan.

The child, Elizabeth, could be powerful in her own right, but she would have to be trained. Elizabeth's race was nowhere near rare, her kind populated a good ten percent of the world. It was Lucifer's favorite race of beings, named as Chosen by Azazel's master a moment after the race was made.

The child down the street, an infant named Sam Winchester, could quite possibly be his most valuable asset yet. He has a hunter's blood, the demon would visit there next and give the boy a taste of demon blood.

One day he would take over this world create a hell on earth, and these two may be the ones to help him do just that.

**Chandler, Oklahoma—22 Years Later**

"Where are you, you creepy son of a bitch," I growl, hands balled into fists. This thing isn't gonna make it out of this alley alive, that I know for sure; I've tracked him too long for him to just escape again. "Come on, you're not Houdini!" The ghoul seems to come out of nowhere, his fist connecting with my jaw. Groaning, I clamber back on my feet and bring out my knife.

 _He's stronger than he looks_.

The ghoul lets out a dark chuckle, backhanding me before pinning me against the filthy brick wall behind me. "I nearly forgot how fun this was," the ghoul smirks, his breath reeking of rotted meat. "You hunters are just too easy!" I've never faced a ghoul before, but I know it needs to be stopped and I'm the only Chosen in town at the moment. From what I could gather, I was about to be killed slowly and then have my corpse devoured; it'll most likely hurt like hell, too.

I tighten my hold on my knife and ram it into the ghoul's side, making it howl as it jerks away from me.

"Ya know," I tell him breathlessly," I have no idea what I'm doin', but I bet that hurt like a bitch." The monster lets out a growl before throwing the knife away and lunging at me, knocking me against the wall again; blood starts trickling down the back of my neck from the hard impact. "Fuck!" Falling back on my stubborn nature, I push the pain to the back of my mind and kick him in the stomach as hard as I can, forcing him to fall backwards and hit his head on the metal dumpster behind him.

Clapping alerts me to someone's presence and I tense immediately. If it's another monster, then I'm completely screwed. "Way to go, Liza," says an all too familiar voice. I can't make out the speaker in the dim lighting of the alley, but I know it's a man and he's around six feet tall with an athletic build, short brown hair, green eyes, and a give 'em hell grin.

"Dean Winchester." I roll my eyes, trying to catch my breath. "Unless you plan on buying some of my niece's Girl Scout cookies, then you can—" I'm cut off when the ghoul jumps on top of me, hands around my throat and squeezing tightly. Dean kicks a machete over to me and I grab it quickly, burying it in the ghoul's skull. "Would you just stay dead? Anyway, Dean, buy cookies or go away."

"John's missing." I look up at him, squinting to make him out better. "He was on a hunt and I haven't heard from him in a while." He's serious, rare for Dean. Nodding, I push the creature off me and get to my feet again.

"You think it's the demon that got Mary?" Dean shrugs his shoulders, wiping some blood off my sore and bruised face. "I'll help, but what will I tell Lilly? I mean, she's only three, she won't understand why she has to go back to Tanya's early."

"Tell her that you have to go away on business to catch the bad guys. Oh yeah, and that I want some Thin Mints." I let out a breathless laugh, letting Dean help me down the street to the Impala I spent a good chunk of my childhood in. "You don't have to do this if you don't want to."

"Shut up, Dean, you know that's not gonna do you any good. After all, I care about your dad too." That was total bullshit, but he doesn't need to know that. Dean nods and we get in his car, heading to my apartment back in town, not noticing more ghouls coming up behind us. "So, where we headed after I pack my stuff?"

"To spring Sammy from the boring life of college." Snorting, I shake my head.

"I'll bet he's gonna just love that."

* * *

Dean and I walk into my apartment a couple hours after the hunt, heading right for my kitchen to get some much needed beers. The ghoul I'd taken down seconds before Dean announced his presence had three other friends and they were all nastier than the last.

Groaning as I enter the living room again, I flop backwards onto my couch, laying my sore feet in Dean's lap. "Sissy," a small, curious voice asks. I open my eyes again and see my niece standing in the door way of the living room, holding her stuffed teddy bear close to her chest, green eyes widening as she looks over at Dean. Lilly's only met him a couple times before and so is cautious around him. She takes a small step forward, eyes never leaving Dean.

"It's alright, sweetie," I smile, beckoning for her to come sit with us as I sit up on the couch. "This is Aunt Sissy's friend, Dean. He plans on buying some cookies." Dean gives the three year old a dazzling smile, holding out a hand for her to shake, which she does reluctantly. "Hon, I'm gonna have to go away for a while so your mommy and daddy are gonna take care of you... I'll visit when I can." After my sister had died, Lilly was taken to a foster home—a good one, at least—and I was able to convince the judge to let me keep her at my house every now and again since my "job" made it impossible to keep her full-time. "Are you okay with cutting this weekend a little short?"

"Are you gonna go beat up the bad guys, Sissy?" I give her a sad smile, nodding my head. "Is your friend going to help?" Suddenly her eyes get big, looking like she's just thought of something earth-shattering. "Are you two going to get married?! Oh, oh, can I be the flower-thrower-person?" Dean and I share an awkward look, memories of our dads' teasing the two of us coming back.

"Uh, no, we're just really good friends," Dean assures her. "But, if I ever marry someone you'll be the first person I go to about flowers." Her eyes light up and she jumps off my lap and into his, making him pinky promise. "Yeah, yeah, of course I promise. What kind of man wouldn't want someone adorable at their wedding to throw flowers at people?" Lilly giggles, blushing a little at the compliment.

"Alright, munchkin," I say, delivering a light pat to her leg," go get your stuff together 'cause we're leaving first thing tomorrow." She nods, running back to her room. "I think she has a crush on you now. Way to go, slick, charming a three year old takes a lot of talent that I didn't think you had." He gives me a fake glare, pouncing as I try to get up and straddling my back.

"Do I really need to remind you just how  _charming_  I can be," he asks in a low, seductive voice that sends shivers down my spine.

"Dean, Lilly's a very light sleeper."

"Then we'll be quiet," he mumbles, turning me over and placing a feather-light kiss on my lips.

God, how I've missed this.

[Liza](http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-AdvsgZcioGY/T3lvw7jmDJI/AAAAAAAADK0/6YFyTsvO8EQ/s1600/Kelly%252BClarkson%252BHairstyles%252B2012%252Bpictures%252BPhotos+%25285%2529.jpg)


	2. A Woman Scorned

Dean parks his car outside some apartment buildings, his fingers drumming on the wheel in time with a Metallica song. I was to stay hidden in the backseat so that Sam thinks it's just him and Dean going to find their dad—Dean's idea of a guilt trip—and if Sam decides to stay at Stanford then it'd just be Dean and I, not that I mind. A car trip with Dean isn't always a bad thing as long as we're able to have some downtime in a motel.

"Ya know, you have to actually get out of the car to convince Sammy to come with us," I point out when Dean doesn't move to get out of the Impala. He turns in his seat to look at me, scowling. I point out his window towards the apartment building. "Go get him or I will."

"If you feel like breaking in to an apartment building and fending off a six foot four Golden Retriever, then be my guest," Dean retorts, not looking behind him. Knowing he'd only go with a little push, I arch a brow and purse my lips, the expression familiar to Dean as  _do it or I'll slap you into next week_  annoyance. He makes a noise before exiting the car as fast as he could.

"Stubborn ass." I climb into the backseat and turn on my iPod, humming along to a Toby Keith song while I tried to stay awake. It's been a long twenty-seven hours and you could only argue with a man three times about the proper way to layer a S'more before you're ready to strangle him with his own boxers. At least we made it to California though, that's what really matters in the grand scheme of things.

I yawn, stretching out with a lazy smile as the song changed, the new song making my emotions go from happy to sad, and then to somewhere in between. It was a song my father sang to me when I was a little girl before he died; my uncle would sing it whenever I got sick, but only when I asked for it.

" _So ride, boldly ride, to the end of the rainbow_ ," I sing along softly,"  _ride, boldly ride, till you find El Dorado. My daddy once told me what a man ought to be, there's much more to life than the things we can see..._." I trail off, settling on a quiet hum as I hear the sound of voices and then the front doors opening. I was getting pretty cozy until a duffel bag was thrown on me, someone slamming the front door shut. Furrowing my brows, I stop the music and set the iPod down on the floorboard. How should I tell Sam it's not just the two of them and that if he throws a bag on me again he'll have to have surgery to remove it? Scowling, I rise up on my elbows and spot Dean and Sammy in the front seat, the comforting hum of the engine not drowning out Sammy's words.

"I'm surprised you didn't drag Elizabeth into this," Sam grumbles, fiddling with something. "Then again, blondie's probably busy with her niece." I raise an eyebrow, staying quiet. "And even if she wasn't we'd have to have separate rooms so I'm not disturbed by you guys' activities." Dean's mouth opens slightly before closing, eyes widening when he catches my eyes using the rearview mirror.

Sitting up fully, I wrap my arms around Sammy's neck and whisper in his ear," Come on, it's not like I get loud or anything." Sam jumps in surprise, turning to face me. "By the way, Dean and I have never—"

"And we will never," Dean interrupts, glaring at his younger brother. That's a lie, but Sasquatch doesn't need to know that. I deliver a light slap to the back of Sam's head and lean back again, picking up my iPod. "You better watch what you say around Liza, she may have got a little soft but she could still kick your ass." I nod smugly at the lie, drifting into a light sleep.

* * *

"Sleeping Beauty," Dean calls, walking out of a convenience store," want some breakfast?"

"Gimme some gummy lifesavers," I yawn, sitting up and running the fingers of one hand through my tangled blonde hair. _I hate mornings so much it's unreal_. Sam is looking through Dean's cassette tape collection, one foot hanging out his open door while Dean's finishing putting gas in the Impala, doing his absolute best to test my patience. "C'mon, Dean, I'm wastin' away here!" I'm thrown a bag full of my favorite candy, the only candy I can eat and enjoy at the same time. "'Bout damn time." Sam gives me a small smirk before looking out his door at Dean.

"So, how'd you pay for that stuff," he asks," you and Dad still running credit card scams?" I snort, struggling slightly to get the bag opened.

"Yeah, well, hunting ain't exactly a pro-ball career," Dean says defensively," besides, all we do is apply, it's not our fault they send us the cards." He makes a valid point, it's not like credit card companies would have to worry about stuff like this if they bothered to look into their customers.

"Yeah, and what names did you write on the application this time?" Dean rolls his eyes as he gets in the Impala, handing me a big bottle of Mountain Dew to ensure I'm wide awake during the drive into town.

"Uh, Burt Aframian and his son, Hector."

"Ah," I laugh," You should've put Burt and Ernie." Dean rolls his eyes giving me his usual goofy grin. "Ya know, now that I think of it, that does sound a little far-fetched." Sam raises an eyebrow, shutting his door. "...Just a little bit." Sam lets out a small laugh, focusing back on the cassettes.

"Hey, Liza, agree or disagree," Sam asks without looking up," Does Dean need to update his cassettes?" I pause mid-chew as I think about the question; Sam has a good point and one day we may need to buy a new car and it might not have a tape player—unless we go to my uncle's salvage yard, of course—and I could always make him a CD with his favorite songs on it. Eventually I nod in agreement.

Dean gives the two of us a wounded look, like a puppy that just got his tail stepped on.

"Why," he demands," and how dare you side with this over-educated college student?"

"For one, they're cassette tapes," Sam points out. "For two: Black Sabbath, Motor Head, and Metallica? They're the greatest hits of mullet rock."  _I happen to like Metallica_. Dean takes one of the tapes from Sam and opens its case before sliding it into the slot in the dashboard.

"House rules, Sammy, driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole." I raise my hand, a smirk playing on my lips. "Backseat keeps shotgun in line." I lower my hand, content to do just that. The car starts and Back in Black drowns out whatever it was Sam was attempting to say about being a fat ten year old.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I looked it up and it would take Dean and Liza approximately 26 hours and 23 minutes to get to Stanford by car from OKC and it takes around thirty or so minutes to get to OKC from Chandler, so the math should be about right. The song Liza sings along to is El Dorado, put to music by George Alexander, but originally a poem by Edgar Allen Poe.


	3. 3

"I-spy with my little eye..." I trail off, spotting familiar red, white, and blue flashing lights ahead of us. Dean pulls the Impala to the side of the road as we come closer to the cops and the bridge they've blocked off with crime scene tape. "I guess I-spy our job. Think it's another of whatever the hell we're dealing with?"

"One way to find out," Dean responds, reaching over Sam to get in the glove compartment, finding his box of fake ID's and tossing one at Sammy. "Get a move on." Sam looks over his shoulder at me, an incredulous look on his face as I dig out the old tin box out of my bag, flipping through badges until I find one nearly identical to the boys'.

"It's a good thing I keep these pictures updated." The picture was taken just last month and added to the badge by a friend, the name on it stating that I'm Marian Knighton.

"He always like this," Sam asks as the two of us jump out and hurry after Dean.

"He's enthusiastic," I shrug, struggling a little to keep pace with my friend. It really sucks being the short one of the group, but Wheelies were out of the question if I ever wanted to be taken seriously. A car is parked in the middle of the bridge across the double yellow line, two cops half-bent inside and talking to each other quietly.

"This guy was dating your daughter wasn't he," the skinny black cop asks, looking concerned when the cop he was talking to nods sadly. "How's Amy doin'?"

"She's puttin' up missing posters downtown," the other guy answers. That's when Dean decides to butt in with all his usual tact and grace. He wasn't the sentimental type for the most part and he had no problems with being rude if it meant getting answers.

"You fellas had another one like this last month, right," he asks, cocking up a brow. The black cop straightens up and eyes us curiously, the other one still dusting for fingerprints or whatever it is these guys did to make our jobs harder. "I'm Agent Keith Moon, these two are my partners." Sam and I flash our badges when the cop glances at each of us, my nervousness hidden behind a pleasant smile.

"A little young for Federal Marshalls, aren't y'all?"

"That's awfully kind of you." I arch a brow at the statement, Dean's smile faltering when he catches my eye.  _Oh, he's getting it later for implying I'm old_. Knowing I'd say something I'd regret later if I stayed, I move over to the side, resting my hand on the metal railing and looking down at the murky water. There are cops in the river, wading up to their hips as they looked for any sign of a clue or even a body. "There was another disappearance just like this one, right? I mean, my boss didn't accidentally get reports confused again I hope."

"No, your boss was right about the other one. It happened a mile or so up the road, another man, but different ages and looks. There's been more before that, too." I turn on my heel, not moving from my spot on elevated concrete that allowed me a few extra inches of height. The urge to cough hits hard suddenly, the attempt to hold it back making my head ache.  _What in the hell is that about?_  Chosen are rarely sick once they reach adulthood, so why do I feel like I coming down with the flu?

"Did you know the victim," Sam asks.

"Dude," I state, southern drawl noticeable," in a town this small, everybody knows everybody. Hell, if you don't, then you got some memory issues you should get checked out." I clear my throat, trying to make it stop itching as I faced the cop again. "Any connections between the dead guys that we need to know about besides the fact that they're all male?"

"Not that we can see," the cop replies sadly. The disappointment etched into his face was something I'm familiar with after doing this job since childhood; it's the same look all cops get when they know there's a kid out there waiting to be rescued.

"Do you at least have a theory," Sam asks as he walks over to the car to have a look. From where I'm standing, I can't even see a freaking fast food wrapper in there, which is weird since the owner of the car is a teenager.

"Serial murder, kidnapping ring.... Your guess is as good as mine."  _At least it's not a serial crusher theory_. I hop down and join Dean and Sam, glad for my leather jacket as the wind picks up again.

"Well, that's exactly the kind of crappy police work I'd expect out of you guys," Dean smiles, wincing as Sam steps on his foot and I elbow him sharply in the ribs. That asshole needs to learn what to say and how to say it. Knowing Dean had crossed a line, Sam excuses us and we begin to walk away, feeling the cop's incredulous gaze on our backs.  _Bet he wasn't used to people talkin' to him like that and it definitely doesn't do us any favors_. When he was sure the cop was no longer watching us, Dean smacks the back of Sam's head and, without missing a beat, flicks my forehead.

"What was that for," Sam hisses, so as not to be overheard by anyone but Dean and I.

"Why d'you gotta step on my foot?"

"Why d'you gotta talk to police like that?" I roll my eyes, hitting both their shoulders in an attempt to get them to shut up, but the only thing I accomplished is getting flicked again by both of them. Dean stops in front of us, forcing us to stop as well or run right into him; Sam would be able to bowl his ass over, but all I'd accomplish is hitting his chest and then falling backwards.  _Man, tall girls are so lucky_.

"C'mon, they don't really know what's goin' on." I watch as three new people duck under the yellow tape, making their way towards us. The first one is a simple cop with the makings of a beer gut while the other two are FBI agents. "We're all alone on this and if we're gonna find dad, then we gotta get to the bottom of this ourselves." I clear my throat again, discreetly nodding at people standing behind Dean.

"Can I help you kids," the country cop asks.

"No thanks, we were just leaving." As the FBI guys walk past he nods in greeting," Agent Mulder, Agent Scully." I snicker, hand covering my mouth as I follow the boys. Dean's sarcasm was definitely refreshing after months of dealing with sourpusses like my uncle B. We stay quiet until we're back in the Impala, fake ID's put away and the heater warming us back up. As we pull away from the bridge, I lapse into a coughing fit, the headache threatening to split my skull in two. "You alright, Liza?" I nod, unable to answer him because of my lack of air. "Sounds like you need to lay off the cigarettes." I hold up my middle finger in answer. "Eh, maybe later."

"Why don't you get us a room at a motel and we can swing by to get ya when we got some kind of lead or go eat," Sam suggests. That sounded like heaven, just lying on a hard bed with a soap opera playing to keep the silence at bay, but we came here for a reason and I don't want to skip out just because of a cough.

"I'm alright," I manage once the coughing stops, wiping involuntary tears off my cheeks. It never seemed to fail, my eyes watering every time I coughed or my allergies decided to flare up.

"Nah, Sammy's right," Dean states," and it'll save us time later." Rolling my eyes, I nod my head in acquiescence. The local motel was just a few miles away from the bridge, allowing me five minutes in the backseat to stuff my throw blanket into one of my bags and make sure my hair didn't look too horrible.

"What name are you goin' by," Sam asks as I get out of the car. I shoulder my messenger bag so I can pull my wallet out of my back pocket, showing him the fake license behind the plastic case.

"Riley MacManus, my family emigrated here from Dublin about two years ago," I answer before stowing the wallet away again. Dean shakes his head, recognizing the last name and accent from Boondock Saints. I shrug with a small smile, rocking up onto the balls of my feet. While he went with the names of rock stars and I went with movies for my fake ID's and credit cards. "I'll see you guys later."

Sam waves as they take off again and I wait until the car leaves the parking lot before I turn and walk into the office. Country music was playing in the main office and it went along with the décor, the old man sitting behind the desk signing along to A Boy Named Sue. "Can I help you, young lady," he asks when I tap the bell.

"One room for about a week, please."

"Comin' right up." He drops a registration book down on the counter along with a pen, taking the American Express card from me to charge it. I sign the book, signature illegible as it usually was, and then take the key and card from the old man. "Enjoy your stay, Miss MacManus."

"Thanks."

As soon as I'm in the safety of my room I take out my cell and call a good friend of mine. "Zane Daniels," answers the groggy voice on the other end.

"Hey, it's Elizabeth."

"I know, sweetie, I got a little something called Caller ID. We've made such great strides with technology that we can see who's calling us before we answer the phone." Going off his snotty tone, it's safe to say he's just getting out of bed despite the fact that's it's almost noon in Oklahoma.

"Zaney, I'm not above driving all the way to your house just to shove that phone of yours up your ass." I keep my tone pleasant, listening to Zane's snort. "I was wondering if our kind had any sort of viruses." This would be the first time I've ever gotten sick with something worse than a cold since I turned twenty and it was worrisome to say the least.

"Um, yeah, we got a few. Why?" I can't answer him for a minute as the coughing begins again, taking my breath away just like last time as I double over on the bed. "Have you been doin' that a lot here lately?" He sounds wide awake know and from the rustling sounds I know he's looking through his papers. Zane is like the Chosens' version of Uncle Bobby, the go-to guy for any and all information.

"Yeah," I answer, voice rough and barely audible even to my own ears. "I get dizzy from time to time, it feels like I have an elephant on my chest, and I hurt  _everywhere_." He lets out a growl of frustration, something clattering to the floor on his end. "Calm down, Zane, no need to wreck your house."

"Too early for your shit, Liza, way too early. After a moment, the rustling stops and he makes a triumphant noise. "From what this little sticky note says, you got a bad case." I wait for him to elaborate, but the line remains silent.

"A bad case of what?"

"I haven't thought up a name for it yet, but basically everyone like us goes through it at some point in their lives at least once. Most survive but there is still a fraction that dies from it." I groan, flopping back onto my queen-sized bed. "Good news is that only our kind gets it and it ain't contagious. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to find a way to get the girl I slept with last night outta my house." I hit the end call button and lay my cell phone on the bedside table.

"This sucks massive ass...."

* * *

I stare down at the rushing water below the bridge, Sam and Dean on either side of me and blocking the worst of the wind. I was dressed in a pair of teal skinny jeans, a black tee, and my leather jacket yet I was still shivering; glad of Sammy's warmth and loathing whatever being thought fevers were a good idea.

"So this is where Constance took the swan dive." Constance Welch, a twenty-four year old that had committed suicide in the eighties after her two kids drowned in the bathtub. I can't say I wouldn't have been suicidal if I went through that, but I'd find some way that didn't involve heights.

"I give her a 6.7 for comin' back from the dead," I quip, pulling my leather jacket closer to me. "Anybody else freezing their asses off or am I just special?" Sam goes to put a hand over my forehead to check for a fever, but I bat it away. The last thing I need is for Sammy to be distracted and Dean to jump his case.

"You think Dad was actually here," he asks, frowning down at me.

"Well, I mean, we're all chasing the same ghost," Dean affirms, walking further down the bridge with Sam and I following behind. "Seems like a safe bet to me." He shrugs, stopping in the middle of the bridge to face us again, the fog surrounding us partially hiding his face in shadow. "It might take a while, but we keep digging until we find him."

"I've gotta be back by Monday." It took me a minute, but then I remembered the conversation Sammy and I had last week about his classes. He was a serious student in all regards and he called me more than once to help him stay awake to study for finals, which led to me shouting Aragorn's pre-battle speech through the phone on more than one occasion. Needless to say, my neighbors always knew when it was finals week and I've gotten more than one notice on my door asking me to yell the speech from Braveheart if I had to do any yelling at all.

"You're serious about that? What, you're just gonna become some lawyer and marry your girl?"

"Maybe I will. Why shouldn't I?"

"Does Jessica know about all the things you've done, what you're doing right now?" Sam and I share a look, both of us knowing that the family business could ruin his relationship. Hell, I'm Sam's best friend and I've only met Jess twice.

"No, and she never will." I raise my hands and step out from between the two brother, walking quickly over to the metal railing to stay out of the argument. These two have been arguing almost nonstop since we left Stanford and it's getting old fast. I look down at the water again, resting my arms on the railing and my head on my arms while I wait for the guys to get their fight out of their system. It'll pass and they'll be back to joking around in no time.

I turn at that sound of a grunt, finding Dean pinning Sammy against one of the metal support beams by his shirt. "Seriously," I demand, taking a few steps closer to them," y'all can't go ten minutes without this shit? I'll give you both twenty bucks if you don't fight for an entire day." Dean steps away, he and Sam looking at me with widened eyes. "What?" Sam's the one that points at the thing behind me and when I turn again I can make out a beautiful woman in a white dress standing on the edge of the bridge, looking down at us. "Oh." Her long, dark hair fell loosely over her shoulders and down her back, neither it nor the material of her dress blowing in the wind as she moves her arms slightly away from her body and allows herself to fall forward.

The three of us race back to the edge, looking down, but not finding so much as a ripple on the water's surface or a white silhouette below it. "Where'd she go," Sam questions, craning his neck to try and see if she had been swept under the bridge.

"To Hell," I suggest hopefully," or Texas." The Impala's engine purrs at it comes to life, the headlights almost blinding after the darkness. Holding my hand up to shield my eyes from the bright light, the three of us move away from the railing to look at the car in confusion. "Who the hell's drivin' your car?" Dean pulls the car keys out of his jacket pocket, looking lost and betrayed.

Then the car surges forward at a frightening speed right at us.


	4. 4

I pull myself up and over the railing, landing on the hood of the now-stopped Impala and rolling onto the asphalt with a grunt of pain. It's bad enough that I was already sick, but now I can add a few bruises into the mix because a possessed  _car_  tried to run my ass over. The only way this day could get any worse is if my high school English teacher showed up and threw another poetry book at my head.

"Dean," Sam shouts, still perched on the railing and looking down in worry. I don't get up, just turning my had towards Sam and waiting for an answer from Dean. There's a few seconds of just silence, then Dean calls up to us.

"What," he snaps from somewhere below us.

"You still in one piece?"

"I'm super." Sam turns to me, both of us fighting back smiles until we caught sight of each other, the laughter coming bubbling out. Only Dean would actually jump off the stupid bridge when he could've just held onto the railing like Sam and I. The laughing only made my headache worsen, the stabbing pain behind my eyes making me wish I didn't need the damn things. "Man, I'm gonna have to take ten showers when we get back to the motel."

 _I should've just told Dean to fuck off and went home to take a bubble bath_.

"This place blows," I moan, sitting up and resting my head against Sammy's leg as we both listened to Dean struggling up the steep hill to the road, his footsteps loud and making a  _smack_  sound from being weighted down with gunk. "First case I've ever had a ghost try to turn me into roadkill."

"I  _really_  wish this was a first for me," Sam complains," but there was that case in Texas with the Stephen King Mobile that targeted those teenagers it thought were up to no good." He and I both make a face at that memory; not only had Sam jumped off the sidewalk to avoid the car, but I had to look after him when John brought him back to Sioux Falls with a busted lip and bruised ribs. "How're you feelin', Liza?"

"Let's just say that I won't be winning an Olympic medal for speed anytime soon." I had aches all over and my chest was burning like someone had a red-hot brand less than an inch away from it. Dean joins us a second later, scowling as he checks every inch of his baby to make sure there was no damage done. "Ya know, this whole hunting evil thing wouldn't be so bad if the ghosts would stop trying to force me off a damn bridge." Sammy nods in agreement, helping me to my feet and then over to the car, letting me collapse in the front seat with my legs dangling out the door.

"That Constance chick," Dean shouts to the sky as he leans against the car," what a  _bitch!_ " I scrunch up my nose as a disgusting smell invades my nostrils, serving to make my nausea even worse than it had been. Dean was covered from head to toe in mud and smelled like he'd been in a pigsty, rolling around in whatever foul thing he found there.

"You smell like a toilet," Sam tells his brother, who looks over at me through the windshield with a scowl

"Well, thanks, that's what every brother wants to hear. Really, Sammy, it means a lot."

"Let's head back to the motel." I sit up as the guys join me in the car, leaning my head on Sam's shoulder and using my jacket to cover my mouth and nose. The drive back to town was a long one, having to stop a couple of times so I can empty my stomach with the boys alternating on who gets to hold my short hair back. It's a relief when we finally park in front of the small motel, Sam and Dean going to the lobby to get a room while I just wait in the car for them to come out.

"If this is how normal people feel when they're sick, then I can sympathize," I mumble to myself, allowing myself to fall sideways and stare at the break and gas pedals. " _I'm all alone_ ," I sing with a small laugh,"  _there's no one here beside me. My problems have all gone_...." I trail off, fighting to keep my eyes open. ".... _Something about waffles or_ —"

"Alright, Liza," Dean states when he opens the door," time to go inside."

"M'kay, if I have to." He hooks his arms under my armpits and haul me out of the car, wrapping an arm around my waist once I'm standing. "Ugh, give me to Sam." The smell alone was enough to make me gag and it was even worse when he had me pressed against his side.

"Traitor." Same takes me all the same, letting me ride on his back as he and Dean lead the way to a room. "Turns out Dad booked a room here for a few weeks and Golden Oldies in the lobby gave us the room number." He kneels in front of the door to number ten, quickly picking the lock while Sam and I played lookouts.

"Is it weird that I'm right next door?"

"Well, it's definitely not normal." I snort, looking over my shoulder to make sure no one was sneaking up behind us. It was always awkward as hell to explain why you were picking a lock and most people didn't buy the  _I left my key inside_  excuse anymore. "Look at that, I still got it." The door swings open, Sam and I the first ones inside with Dean following. The room is nearly identical to my own, the same bad wallpaper, cheap covers on the queen-sized bed, and bad overhead lighting; the biggest difference is that the walls are covered in pictures and news articles, every available flat surface either covered in rotting food or books.

"Wow, this place makes Uncle B's house look tidy." Dean clicks on a lamp, allowing all of us to see even more papers pinned to the wall in the back.

"I don't think he's been here in a few days."

"What was your first clue, the rotting food or the unslept-in bed?"

"Look at all of this stuff," Sam says, gesturing around the room," whatever it is he's chasing, he was worried about keeping it out enough to break out the salt and cat's-eye shells." I walk over to one of the pictures taped to the wall; it was blurry, but I could just make out that the figure in it had on a white dress. It reminded me of a picture in one of the scary stories books I used to read all the time, something to do with a woman and a hotel, I think.

I move to the next picture that depicted people getting burned at the stake. There were sticky notes and string connecting a few things together, but I keep going back to the first picture I saw. "You thinking demonic?"

"A woman in white." My eyes widen and I spin to look at the guys, thankful that Sam remembered. At least, I thought he remembered until I saw a picture of the girl from the bridge and  _woman in white_ written on some tape above it in John's cramped handwriting.

"If that's what we're dealing with, then dad would've destroyed her corpse," Dean points out, turning to face Sam and me.

"She might have another weakness."

"Dad would've wanted to make sure, he'd dig her up. Does the article tell us where she's buried?" Sam shakes his head, moving to look at the other stuff on the walls. "Hmm, why don't you go talk to her husband, I'll get cleaned up, and Liza can see what she can make of all... This." He gestures around the room at the various materials. It was like seeing the inside of John's head, an entire heap of crazy.

"Hey, Dean, what I said about Mom and Dad, I'm sorry—" Dean holds up a hand to cut him off.

"No chick-flick moments."

"Fine, Jerk."

"Bitch."

"You're both assholes, can we move on now," I laugh, sitting down on the lumpy bed. "When you're done with your shower, you can drop me off at the library." Dean shrugs, walking into the bathroom with a change of fresh clothes and a bottle of body wash. "Hey, take as long as you need to get that stench out!"

"Eat me, Liza."

* * *

I let out another sneeze as I flip through a book I'd brought along with me, flipping the pages slowly as I skim over the material. It was ghost mythology and it had an entire chapter over the woman in white sightings, though most of it was conjecture. Dean finally comes out of the bathroom a few minutes later, squeaky clean and no longer smelling like a dumpster.

"I'm goin' to get something to eat, want anything?" Sam shakes his head, listening to his voicemails. "What about you, Liza, wanna go with me?" Throwing my tissue in the trash bin, I stand up and follow him out the door.

 _Why does the sun have to be so bright?_  My eyes have always been sensitive, but this is just ridiculous.

We get halfway to the Impala when we notice two policemen talking to the owner of the motel, who points in our direction the second his eyes land on us. "Warn Sam," I order quietly, turning my back on the cops as they begin to walk our way, Dean taking out his cell.

"Five-0... They spotted us. Go find dad." He hangs up and we turn to face the cops. "Problem, officers?"

"Where's your other partner," the black cop from earlier asks, arms crossed over his chest.

"What other partner," I ask, eyebrows knitting together as I fake ignorance. The cop gestures for the guy beside him to check the room we just came out of. Sam should already be in the connecting room, gathering all of my things and continuing down the line until he finds a place to law low.

"Fake U.S. Marshals, fake credit cards, y'all got anything real?"

"My boobs," Dean quips. The cop looks at me with raised brows, probably doubting what's left of Dean's sanity. He's not the only one in that club, I've been wondering how long ago he lost his marbles for a while now.

"Oh, yeah, these are a hundred percent mine," I nod with a shit-eating grin. My arms are cuffed behind my back, a little tighter than necessary, then Dean and I are stuffed into the back of a police cruiser. "Think we can make a stop at the diner?"


	5. 5

I yawn, looking up at the cop in front of me, fighting to keep my eyes open. This virus is hitting me fast and hard, and it doesn't feel like it'll relent anytime soon. "What's your name," the cop demands with his hands on his hips," the  _real_ one?"

"I've already told you a thousand times," I reply tiredly," it's Kahlan Amnell." I rub my eyes with the hand that isn't cuffed to the table, letting out another series of coughs. "Jesus, do have anything here for a nasty cold?" The cop rolls his eyes, looking ready to bang his fists on the wood and metal table in frustration.

We've been here for a couple of hours, the same question over and over again with no sign of a reprieve in sight. Honestly, I can do this all day when I feel up to it and, even sick, it'll take a lot more than Barney the Deputy to wear me down. "Where are all the missing persons that you had up on your wall?"

"Well, considering that wasn't my wall of insanity, I couldn't tell you." I shrug, leaning back in the chair with my feet up on the table, crossed at the ankles. My pink Converse looked dirty under the fluorescent lighting, the fabric stained in places from oil and fingernail polish.

"You seem like a good kid, so why are you involved with this sort of thing?"

"I'm not."

"Do you lure the men in? Promise them something and then let those two boys and the old man take over?" I meet the cop's gaze unflinchingly, keeping my mouth closed. No matter what I said, he wouldn't take it into account unless it fit his little theory. "How old are you anyway? Nineteen, twenty?"

"I'm forty-three, I have a great skin care routine."

"Enough with the smartass answers!" He presses his lips together and paces the room, trying to get a handle on his temper again. "Are you getting paid for this or are you just in the murder club for the thrills?"

"The only club I've ever been in was Girl Scouts." The cop shakes his head in disgust, storming out of the room and slamming the door behind him. "I can get you a great discount on a box of Samoas if you order before Tuesday!" A few minutes later, when everything is quiet again, Dean opens my door and walks over to me, ruffling my messy hair.

"Howdy, Liza," he greets with his usual cocky grin," ever had to make a jail break before?"

"There's a first for everything." He brings a paperclip out of his pocket, using it to unlock the cuff around my wrist. "I need to start carrying one of those with me."

"Yeah, well, I got lucky. Let's get outta here before the cops come back." We climb down the fire escape and into an alley, heading towards the phone booth at the end of the street, both of us squeezing inside it. "Sammy made a fake call to the police and we gotta find out where he is."

"Well, he's obviously not in jail." Dean laughs, taking the quarters that I swiped off a cop's desk earlier, not even having to think as he dialed the number for Sammy's phone.

"Fake 911 phone call, I don't know, that's pretty illegal... Listen, we gotta talk... Sammy, would you shut up for a second? ...That's what I'm trying to say, Dad's left Jericho... He left his journal... We've got coordinates... No idea yet... Sam? Sam!" Dean slams the phone down, taking my hand and beginning to run this time. "We're headed to Breckinridge road. I think Sammy's in trouble." 

_We're coming, Sammy._

* * *

Completely out of breath and past ready to collapse, Dean and I make it up the long driveway towards the house, Dean's pistol grasped in his hand. "Shoot it," I gasp, pointing at the ghost in Sam's lap, her face distorted and gaunt. "Shoot.... Oh God, I need to start doing cardio."

With a wince, Dean raises his pistol and fires, the driver's side window of the Impala shattering as the bullets speed through it and the ghost. Constance lets out an annoyed howl, flickering in and out of reality before vanishing. Sam sits up with a grunt, blood pooling from the four claw marks in his chest.

"I'm takin' you home," he vows determinedly, starting the car and driving right through the front of the house.

"Sam," Dean shouts as we run in after the car," Sam, are you okay?!"

"Ask me later." We come around to the passenger's side, looking for any noticeable damage beyond what Constance had caused. "Get me out of here, guys." Dean nudges me out of the way and then jerks the door open, pulling Sam out and looking him over.

"Guy's we got a problem," I say, pointing across the room where Constance was glaring at us. She held a picture in her hands, her rage becoming more noticeable as she throws it away and steps to the side. None of us get the chance to move, a heavy dresser sliding across the floor and pinning us against the side of the car, held in place by her ghostly mojo.

"I thought she was supposed to die in here!"

"Well, obviously you miscalculated! So much for you being a college know-it-all." The lights begin to flicker despite the fact that there's not been any electricity here for over ten years, water running down the staircase and pooling around Constance's feet. "What the hell is happening now?" None of us wanted to find out, pushing against the dresser with all our might.

"How can a stupid ghost be this strong?"

"You've come home to us, mommy," two small voices say in unison, a boy and girl appearing on either side of Constance. We pause, watching in horrified awe as the children wrapped their mother up in a hug, Constance letting out screams of agony as she her flesh begins to melt. Soon she and the children disappear in flashes of light, nothing but a puddle of water remaining.

With identical grunts of effort, we push the heavy dresser away, the boys walking over to where Constance disappeared while I climb up on the hood with my knees drawn up to my chest. "So," Dean says breathlessly," this is where she drowned her kids."

"That's why she couldn't go home," Sam realizes," she was too scared to face them." Dean claps Sam on the shoulder, congratulating him on his first case since rejoining the fray. "What were you thinking when you shot Casper in the face?" Dean points to me accusingly, both of them coming to stand in front of the car.

"Hey, it was all her idea."

"It worked didn't it," I shoot back with a smile, craning my head back to look at them both.

"You better not have screwed up my car, Sammy, 'cause I'll kill ya myself if you did." I let out a laugh, wincing at the pain that nearly overwhelms me for a second. "You alright, Liza?"

"No," I shake my head," but I'm calling a friend to come get me. He'll take me to Uncle B's and as soon as I'm all better I'll catch up with you guys."

"Don't take too long, I plan on winning that twenty bucks."

_Living easy/living free/season ticket on a one-way ride/asking nothing leave me be/Taking everything in my stride/Don't need reason, don't need rhyme/Ain't nothing I'd rather do_


	6. SKIN

I roll onto my back again, careful not to screw up the IV in my arm that keeps me from becoming dehydrated. This virus has slowly gotten worse and worse and the only thing that's keeping me from slipping is my uncle—who makes sure to keep me under constant supervision in case something goes wrong. Zane comes to visit every two or three days while Dean and Sam make sure to give me a phone call, telling me where they are. I cough again, noticing that I'm no longer coughing up blood. That's always a good sign; the nausea's gone away for the most part, and I can breathe again.

"Liz, you want anything to eat," Uncle Bobby asks, walking into the kitchen to get himself a beer.

"No," I say in a weak voice," but I would love…" I trail off, falling back to sleep. Those naps happen often and always bug me when I wake up from them a few minutes later.

* * *

I laugh as Sam tells me how Dean did on an airplane, shaking my head. "That sounds like him, alright; Jesus, humming Metallica to calm him down, then nearly shitting himself when the plane started to land?" We break into laughter again, Sam going into excruciating detail about the entire trip. "I wish I could've seen his face!" Bobby sits next to me, handing me an already opened bottle of beer. "Well, I better go...Hopefully I'll see y'all soon." I hang up, laying my head on Bobby's shoulder, enjoying the safety I feel with him. The man practically raised me after my father died.

"Sam again?" I nod, smile on my face. "At least it wasn't that other guy, I don't like him. Hell, I'm tempted just ta' shoot him and get it over with." Snorting, I take a long drink of my first beer in weeks.

"Speaking of Zane, he should be here in a few weeks to tell us all about his vacation to Hawaii." Bobby groans, resting his head on mine.

"That's perfect."

* * *

"Yeah, I'm sure," I answer Dean as Zane pulls up beside the familiar black car, a huge grin on my face. Hanging up the phone I reach over and give Zane a hug, brushing some of his dark hair out of his eyes. "Bye, Zane." He flashes one of his most charming smiles, blue eyes sparkling.

"See ya, babe." Grabbing my backpack I get out and head directly up to the house's front door, ignoring the crime scene tape, and walk in. A pretty blonde walks out of a room with the two men I've been looking for directly behind her.

"Can I help you," she asks in a strained voice.

"Um, I'm their sidekick," I smile, straightening my dark red spaghetti strap shirt. "Hey, Sammy." He gives me a smirk, hugging me. Dean rolls his eyes skyward, as if the ceiling could give him the answers he seeks—which is crazy, but hey, look who we're talkin' about. The blonde nods, looking close to tears as she looks around at the blood-splattered room. She gives me a tiny smile, holding out a hand for me to shake.

"I'm Becky, Sam's friend," she introduces herself.

"Elizabeth, the devil on Sammy Boy's shoulder." I get a small laugh out of her, but she still looks sad as hell. A dog barking outside catches Dean's and my attention as we walk over to the window to look out at it.

"That used to be the sweetest dog," Becky tells us. I give her a 'what the hell' look, one of my eyebrows raised. "He went crazy after the...the murder." Dean walks over to Sam and I follow after giving Becky's shoulder a comforting squeeze. Poor woman's brother has been arrested for a murder he probably didn't commit.

"So, you think maybe this  _is_ our kind of problem," Sam asks, looking a bit smug. Dean purses his lips, sending a look in my direction to see who I would agree with. The asshole doesn't think this is anything supernatural. I nod my head in Sam's direction and Dean rolls his eyes again, turning to face Becky.

"You think your lawyers could get their hands on the security footage for me?"

A guilty expression filters across Becky's face for a second, averting her eyes to the floor, saying," I've already swiped it off my lawyer's desk; I needed to see it for myself." I wrap an arm around her shoulders, leading her outside to the Impala.

"Yeah, those two morons would be in deep crap if they didn't have me along." I tell her, mischief sparkling in my hazel eyes. What, I think I have a right to be smug after spending so long near-death on bed rest. That, and it's sort of true, I am that amazing. "Now, how's about we make some popcorn and watch the tape?" She nods, looking over her shoulder to make sure the two boys were following us. Dean has a certain look in his eyes that makes me shudder and look away, a light blush forming on my cheeks. He hasn't looked at me like that in a while.

* * *

I sigh for the fifth time, shifting my position on Becky's couch; we've been watching the security footage for what seems like hours and the only criminal behavior I've seen is a neighbor not having the blinds completely closed when he decided to dance around his house necked—that sick bastard. "Here he comes," Becky's says and we can see her brother, Zack, walking up to the door.

"22:04, that's just after ten, you said time of death was about ten-thirty," Dean points out, eyes never leaving the TV.

"Our lawyers hired some kind of video expert; he said the tape's authentic." Groaning, I throw an un-popped popcorn kernel at Sam, narrowly missing his head. It feels like we've been at this for far longer than we really have and I was ready to crash.

"Hey, Beck," Sam asks, turning to face his friend," can we take those beers now?" She shrugs, walking out of the room. "Maybe some sandwiches too?"

"This ain't Hooters," she smirks, walking around the corner.

"What'cha got," I ask, stretching before getting to my feet. Sam rewinds the tape and makes it go in slow motion so that we could see "Zack's" eyes flash liver for a brief second.

"Camera flare," Dean asks.

"I've never seen one like that before. You know, some cultures believe that a photograph catches a glimpse of the soul; remember the dog that went nuts after the murder? Maybe he saw that."

"You thinking Doppelganger?"

"It'd sure explain a whole helluva lot," I nod.

* * *

"Look, you're still getting your strength back, so we both think you should stay here for a while and rest."

"Dean, I've been resting for weeks now; I want to get out and kick some ass already!" Dean gives me a hard look that brooked to argument. "Sam, back me up on this! Tell Dean that I'm fine to go look at the crime scene." Sam sighs, looking down at his shoes, one hand rubbing the back of his neck.

"She's got a point, Dean, looking at a crime scene isn't exactly strenuous."

"Fine, but if something happens,  _you_ take care of her." He storms out to the Impala, Sam and I right behind him. Sheesh, who stuck a pole up his ass? The ride there is quiet and not a comfortable one either. Dean shoots glares at me every now and again through the rearview mirror. We pull up behind the house, Dean nursing a cup of coffee. "Why are we here so early?"

"Clues," Sam answers," the tape shows the killer coming in, but not coming out; maybe we can find a trail to follow. Dean sits on the hood of the car while Sam looks around and I steal a drink of Dean's coffee, earning another glare from said person. It's seriously too early for this Scooby-Doo shit.

"Blood," Sam says, nodding at the telephone pole," someone came this way." I hand Dean his cup back when an ambulance rushes past us, sirens blaring. All of us jump in the Impala without a word, following closely behind the ambulance to another house covered in obnoxious, yellow crime scene tape.

"What happened," Dean asks the first person we walk up to—a woman who seemed to have been jogging until she saw the cops.

"He tried to kill his wife," she says sadly," tied her up and beat her. He used to wave at me when I jogged past every morning; he seemed so nice." We head to the alley behind the house to see what we could find. Disgusting smells wafting up from the dumpsters make me run behind a car and lose what little food I could get in my stomach.

Dean places a hand on my shoulder, the other hand holding my hair out of my face. "Sam and I are going in the sewers, why don't you stay up here and go buy you some water." I straighten up, taking in a huge gulp of air as I try to ignore the smell.

"Nah, I'll go down with you." Dean gives me a doubtful look. "Boy, I swear I'll hit you upside the head if you keep giving me that look, now, get a move on!" Dean winces, rubbing the back of his head; no doubt remembering exactly how my head-smacking feels. "You guys come up with a theory?"

"We were thinking a Shape shifter." I nod, walking over to where Sam is waiting for us by a manhole cover, hands stuffed in his pockets. Even though the two of us are the same age I can't help but think of him as a younger brother—I blame those puppy-dog eyes of his. "Alright, let's get this over with." I check for my pistol, making sure in was half in the back of my pants before following the guys down below. The tunnels are dark and disgusting; grime, water, and who-knows-what covering the floor and walls. I stick close behind Dean, feeling tad uncomfortable.

"I bet the Shifter's using the tunnels to get around," Sam says, walking behind me. Dean squats down to look at something lying on the ground in front of us, poking at it with his pocket knife.

"You're probably right, I mean, look at this." I notice what looks like an ear in the mess of goo, closing my eyes for a moment and focusing on not getting sick again. Stupid, fucking stomach.

"What if it sheds kind of like a snake when it changes people," I suggest, looking around in case the Shifter pops up outta nowhere like monsters like to do. "It makes sense doesn't it?" The guys nod, standing up and looking around. Sam holds out a hand to help me up again and we head back through the tunnels and up to the Impala. Dean unlocks the trunk, lifting up the fake bottom and propping it open with his sawed-off shotgun; inside is a small arsenal that would make Chuck Norris grin with pride.

"One thing I learned from dad was that a silver bullet to the heart will kill almost everything," Dean smirks, getting a clip ready. Sam's cell rings and he walks off to talk while Dean and I ready our guns, exchanging our clips for the ones with silver bullets in it; I grab a large-ish knife and hook it to the belt of my worn blue jeans, feeling more in control with both it and the Walter P22—my pride and joy no matter what Dean or John says about it. Dean and I walk over to a slightly depressed looking Sam, realizing by from what we overheard that Becky was pissed and knew something wasn't right.

"I hate to say it, but that's exactly what I was talking about," Dean tells him softly but firmly. "You lie to your friends because if they knew who you really were they'd probably freak out and check you into a psyche ward." I pull Sam in for a hug.

"Dean's right, Sammy, it's easier not to have friends that aren't in our profession...even when they are it's best not to be close to them." Sam gives me a look when I let go. "Hey," I say, holding my hands up," you two jackasses make that difficult in all aspects, especially you with those eyes hardly anyone can say no to." This gets the smile I was looking for, Sam taking the pistol Dean offers to him. We head down into the sewer again, each of us manning a flashlight so we don't trip or run into something. The light reflects off the water on the floor, rats scattering every now and then. I tighten my grip on my pistol, looking around me at my filthy surroundings. The bad part of the tunnels is that they're narrow and if we're attacked we don't have the greatest chance of winning.

"We're close to its lair," Dean says, his voice echoing slightly. I follow his gaze and see the same ooze from before on a pipe next to Sam's head.

"How do you know," Sam asks, oblivious.

"Simon says, turn your head to the right," I smile, laughing when his face contorts into an expression of disgust. "God, I'm pretty sure even Freddy Krueger couldn't live like this and his like the King of Gore." Sam sighs, looking over at Dean and I, his brown eyes going wide with shock and a bit of fear.

"Guys!" We turn to find an Asian guy standing behind us, eyes flashing silver. It backhands Dean, knocking him against the pipe and to the ground before tucking tail and running down the tunnel, Sam and I unable to get a good shot at him with our guns. Sam and I help Dean up, noticing the way he was gripping his shoulder in pain.

"Get the son of a bitch," he growls, gesturing in the direction the Shifter had taken. Sam and I sprint down the tunnel, careful not to slip and fall.

"He's goin' up through that manhole up ahead," I shout, a few feet behind Sam. By the time we're out of the tunnels the Shifter has vanished in the small park. I let out a growl of frustration, teeth clenched together to keep from shouting out obscenities in case there was a kid around. Dean lets out a pained grunt, hauling himself above ground; he's still favoring his left shoulder. We decide to split up, planning to meet each other at the other side of the park. I make sure to keep my weapons hidden—not wanting to raise alarm and have the cops called on me; bail money was something we couldn't afford at the moment. When we meet back up I can easily guess that the guys had as much luck as I did.

Sam and I don't notice Dean's green eyes flashing silver as a van's headlights wash over him.

 


	7. 7

As we approach the car I notice Dean's no longer favoring his shoulder, but walking as if he was never hurt to begin with. Shaking my head, I pull the coat he'd let me borrow closer to me, my own leather jacket back at the motel. I sigh contentedly, breathing in Dean's unique sent of musk, sweat, and leather—don't ask me why, but I liked it. "Think he found another way underground," Sam asks, looking over his shoulder at us.

"Most likely," Dean nods. "You got the keys?" Sam pauses, leaving the car keys in his pocket, turning to face Dean and I with an inquisitive look on his face.

"Didn't dad face a Shifter in San Antonio?" My eyebrows knit together in confusion; Sammy basically had all the cases he's been on memorized and the fact that he was asking Dean about it was weird.

I look over at Dean again as he answers," No, it was a thought form in Austin." Sam nods, seeming to remember, throwing the keys to Dean—who unlocks the trunk and looks into the arsenal. I chew on my bottom lip, slowly catching on to Sammy's plan. Dean can barely remember what he had for breakfast this morning, but to remember a case he wasn't even a part of was a weird in and of itself. I slide my gun out and point at the back of Dean's head at the same time Sam does.

"Don't move," Sam shouts with a glare," where is he?!" Dean straightens up, holding up his hand in a gesture to show he meant no harm. "What did you do to my brother?"

"Chill out, it's me and you know it." He sends a quick glance my way, a pleading look in his eyes—the eyes I've grown so familiar with over the years. Hell, I've known them both since I was six. "You're about to shoot your brother. Liza, tell him to calm down."

"When we left your shoulder was hurt."

"Yeah, what, am I supposed to cry over some stupid injury?" Sam doesn't waver and I move in closer, feeling unsure if Sam and I are just being paranoid. Dean doesn't usually make too big of a deal about being hurt, but he usually tried to milk a little attention when he knew I could fix him up. His jaw clenches as he takes a step towards us, arms outstretched. "If your both so sure, then why not shoot me?" I waver slightly, gun lowered an inch. Before I could blink, Dean had Sam unconcious and was pinning me to the ground, straddling my stomach with one hand over my mouth to keep me from yelling and the other pinning both my hands above my head. "You should've taken that shot, sweetheart."

And then I'm lost in unconsciousness...

* * *

When I come to I find myself tied to a metal pole back in the sewers, shivering because I no longer had Dean's jacket for warmth. No, it wasn't Dean, it was that  _thing_. The Shifter barely spares me a glance as he finishes tying my feet together, a cloth tied over my mouth keeping me from making too much noise. "Where are he," I hear Sam ask after what sounded like a painful hit. I turn my head to the right and find Sam in the same position I'm in except he didn't have a cloth over his mouth.

"I wouldn't worry about him," fake Dean says, gathering a few things. "I'd worry about yourself...and maybe Elizabeth." I begin to struggle against the ropes, all my weapons taken from me. He gives me a dark smirk before facing Sam again. "I swear, the more I learn about you and your family...I thought I came from a bad background."

"What do you mean?" My hazel eyes focus on him, one of them beginning to swell shut from the punch he'd delivered. He presses a hand to his head, looking pained for a minute before letting out a grunt and composing himself.

"He's got issues with you," the Shifter tells Sam," you got to do things he didn't even have time to think about. And you!" He turns to face me now, kneeling next to me so that we're eye to eye. "Oh, he was  _furious_ when you left." One of its fingers traces my jawline. "After you left I kept remembering your senior prom and I thought that once you were back that I would be able to forget it while you were actually with me, but those memories got stronger, Liza." He backhands me, standing again and walking over to a table. "I still know eventually everyone is going to leave me; you left, Elizabeth left, and dad left after I did whatever I could to make him happy." He picks up a tarp and heads over to Sam again. "But this life has perks, I meet new people—kinda like your little friend, he'd bang her if he could. Just like he would Liza, in fact, that was all he could think about when she showed up in that spaghetti strap shirt." He smirks, throwing the tarp over Sam and walking over to me.

"Get away from her," Sam yells, struggling. I watch as the Shifter crouches next to me again, taking the gag out of my mouth and brings his lips inches away from mine.

"God, some of the memories he has of you, Elizabeth, they're...well, they certainly kept him entertained when he was lonely, sweetheart; it's too bad I have to kill you though, then you could keep me entertained as well."

"Go die in a ditch," I yell, wishing that the rope around my neck would vanish so I could at least manage a head butt or  _something_ for crying out loud! "And when you do I hope it's slow and agonizing." His fingers wrap around my throat, squeezing until I'm gasping for air and seeing black spots in my vision.

"When I'm done with Becky, you're next and I promise I'll take it slower than I did with the others." He straightens up after putting the gag in my mouth again and storms off. I let out a sigh, working the ropes keeping my hands tied against the rough pole-like thing I'm tied to, hoping I'm doing some damage.

"Sammy," I hear what sounds like Dean call out uncertainly," I hope that's you and Liza and not that freak." So that's where he is, somewhere behind us. "Are y'all alright, not too many bumps and bruises?" I let out a curse that the cloth muffles, sounding surprisingly like my Uncle Bobby when he gets extremely pissed off. As the guys continue to try and break free of their ropes they discuss what the Shifter had said; Dean was unconscious through most of it. Thankfully, Sammy skips over what it said about me for the most part, finding that it would be awkward to talk about. "What do you mean it downloaded my memories?"

"Well, it knew things, Dean, things only  _you_ could know," Sam explains.

"Like a Vulcan mind-meld?" I snort at Dean's way of thinking, working on spitting out this stupid gag.

"Something like that. Maybe that's why he doesn't kill us because he needs to keep us alive 'cause if he doesn't the connection he has with you would be lost entirely." I grumble, continuing to have my own little conversation that neither of them could hear nor understand. Eventually I get the gag loose.

"Hallelujah," I shout with pride, taking in a lungful of air. Sam looks over at me with a raised eyebrow, finally free from the ropes. Dean cuts the ones that are holding me in place, helping me to my feet. "Anyway, my theory is that if your still alive," with these words I poke Dean in the chest," then he can keep looking like you, but if you're a door nail maybe he'll just morph back into whatever he originally looked like." Dean nods, following Sam through the tunnels as we try to find a way out so that we can save Becky's ass.

"Hey, he, uh, he didn't do anything too bad to you did he," Dean asks me quietly, tucking a strand of my shoulder-length hair behind my ear and inspecting a bruise. "I mean, he didn't try to-"

"No," I answer shortly, looking ahead of us. "He didn't try what you're thinking." Dean lets out a sigh of relief, taking my hand in his larger one and leading me down the tunnel after Sam. Soon we're above ground again and able to take in fresh air.

"We need to call the police," Sam says, thinking about his friend.

"So your plan is to put an APB out on Dean? Wouldn't that most likely backfire on us, Sammy?" Sam shrugs, running after Dean and me. We stop in front of a TV store, watching the news as it shows a sketch of Dean. "Man, they need a better sketch artist," I quip, hands on my hips. The guys look down at me and I shrug, looping my arms through theirs and beginning to walk again.

"We gotta take that thing down."

"How, we don't have shit," Sam and I point out in unison. Dean stops and turns to face us, anxious expression on his face.

"Well, he's running around with my face on, I find that weird and disturbing!"

"Whatever you plan on doing we need weapons, look, we know he fled on foot—probably back to the sewer—so the car might be at Rebecca's," Sam says, always the sensible one of the three of us. Dean shudders as we walk away, wrapping his jacket around my shoulders.

"The thought of him driving my car...it's killing me!" Ah, the relationship of man and car...the poor Impala, the Shifter had better not have hurt the poor baby!

* * *

We run down the alley, looking around the corner to find the Impala parked under a street light. I let out a relieved laugh, glad that the car was in one piece and not completely totaled like I'd suspected it was. "Finally," Dean smiles," something went right tonight." Right after he says this a police car stops in front of the Impala and another is sitting at the end of the alley we just came from.

"Fuck," I growl, running after Dean towards a wooden fence.

"You two go, I'll hold 'em off," Sam commands, looking over his shoulder.

"Are you nuts, those assholes will catch you!?" He gives me a stern look—much like the ones Dean gives me at times that mean 'shut up and do what I say; no if's, and's, or but's. "Sammy—"He holds up a hand, pointing towards the fence.

"They can't hold me anyway and Dean's wanted for attempted murder, get your asses in gear." As Dean and I make it to the top of the fence Sam yells after us," And stay out of the sewers!" Dean and I find a safe hiding space for the night, waiting until morning before we head back down to the sewers to check out the lair and maybe bag us a Shifter. I lay my head on his shoulder, smiling when he wraps an arm around my shoulders.

"Is what the Shifter told me true; that you loved me in that spaghetti strap?" He gives me his signature smirk, leaning down to kiss the very tip of my nose...and then my eyelids...and then, finally, my lips. The kiss is long, but neither of us tries anything, just needing the comfort it offers. When we break apart, he pulls me closer to him to stop my shivering.

"Yeah, you looked pretty nice in that shirt," he admits, arms wrapped around me. "But I still liked that prom dress better, especially when you let me take it off." I laugh, remembering that night fondly. It wasn't romantic by any means, but it was seared into my memory and there was no way I'd forget it any time soon. "Get some sleep, Liza; tomorrow's going to be a long day." I nod, lying my head against his chest and falling asleep feeling safe for the first time since I left Bobby's house.

**The Next Morning**

I pull a fresh clip full of silver bullets out of the trunk, stuffing them in my back pocket in case I run out. We'd decided that no matter what Sam says we needed to find out as much as we can about this Shifter, and if that means hunting around in the sewers and possibly killing it there, then so be it. Dean hands me a flashlight and we start for the nearest manhole, eager to end this nightmare once and for all.

It was easy to find the lair again, all we had to do was follow the trail of Shifter goo; it lead us to a large room with weapons, candles, and knickknacks covering every square inch of the place. I stay near the desk to look at some of the stuff while Dean walks over to a tarp. His next words make me freeze, dropping the watch I had picked up. "Becca?" Why the hell is she here?! I turn, finding a scared and tied up Becky sitting where the tarp had been—her gaze flicking fearfully between Dean and I. "Son of a bitch." We both knew the moment Sam was released that Becky would be the first person he wanted to check on!

"If you're here, then who's Sammy going to be seeing?" Dean and I look at each other, knowing who's house we had to go to first. I bend down, helping Dean to untie the traumatized woman. "What happened?"

"I was walking down the street when I blacked out, and then I woke up here," she sobs," it turned into me, that's not possible." We help her to stand and go as fast as we can to save Sam from certain death.

* * *

We walk into Becky's house in time to see the Shifter on top of Sammy with his hands around his throat. One of my hands goes to my own throat where I had blue-black finger shaped bruises from where he had tried to choke me, remembering that experience a little too well for my liking. "What, you couldn't get it up for me so you're goin' after Sammy now," I mock loudly—getting the Shifter's attention in time for Dean to shoot it through the black hole it calls a heart. It had stood up when the bullet hit it and stumbled backwards, landing on a small desk against the wall. Becky and I run over to Sam and help him up off the ground. "Boy, you are lucky that Dean and I disobeyed your order or you'd be fish food by now." He scoffs, wiping some blood of his face.

**Later**

Dean and I were staring down at a map, deciding where to go now and the best route to take when Rebecca and Sam walk outside having a short chat that ended in them hugging. She waves at Dean and I before heading back inside; Sam walks over to us. "What's gonna happen to your friend Zack," Dean asks, looking curious, opening the driver's side door to the Impala.

"They're blaming it all on this Dean Winchester guy for Emily's murder; they found the murder weapon in the guy's lair, Zack's clothes stained with blood. Zack should be released soon.

* * *

"I'm sorry," Dean apologizes randomly, glancing over at Sam. "That I couldn't just leave you outta this and let you go be Joe College." Sam shrugs, smiling over at his brother. "And I'm sorry to you too, Liza; you should've been able to spend time with your niece." I lean forward and wrap my arms around his neck, placing a light kiss on the top of his head.

"You know," Sam starts," no matter how much I tried I still never really fit in there, and I'm sure Elizabeth can understand where I'm coming from."

"Oh yeah, my neighbor has this Chihuahua and it likes to yip a lot at night, so for the first month I was there I would wake up around midnight or two O'clock and threaten the mutt with silver bullets."

_Now baby maybe, maybe she's in need of a kiss/I said, "A-hey, what's your name, baby?/Maybe we can see things the same/Now don't you wait or hesitate/Let's move before they raise the parking rate"/All right now baby, it's all right now/All right now baby, it's all right now_


	8. HOOK MAN

Dean and I sit at a table outside a café, him looking for a case on Sam's laptop and me talking to my niece on the phone; Sam was at a payphone asking around about John. "Lilly," I scold," be nice to your cousin 'cause he'll be bigger than you before you know it." The four-year-old has been a brat for the past two hours so her foster mom, Tanya, had called me to see if I could make her behave somehow. "Besides, if you keep being mean the next time I come to visit I won't take you out for ice cream." That threat has the desired effect I was looking for, Lilly immediately beginning to apologize. "Alright, well, Aunt Sissy has to go; I love you, munchkin."

"Love you, Sissy!" I press end call and lay my phone down on the table, still smiling at my niece's behavior. She was too much like me for her own good sometimes and it would drive Tanya and Darren crazy one of these days.

"So, how's the little one," Dean asks, taking a drink of his coffee.

"She's...Lilly."

I look back down at my phone, contemplating on whether or not to call Zane and check on him when Dean yells over to Sam," You half-caf Double Vanilla Latte is getting cold over here, Francis!" Sam sits in the chair across from me with a sour look on his face. "I take it you got nothing?"

"I told them to check everything I could think of; even made them run dad's plates for violations." Sighing, I rest my forehead on my arms, shielding my face from the sun and looking down at my boots. "Dad just doesn't want to be found." I wince from the pain in my lower stomach and back, making sure not to raise my head and draw attention to myself. Dean shakes my shoulder. "Check this out." I grunt that I'm listening, getting weaker and more irritable by the second. "A news item out of the  _Plains Courier_ in Ankeny Iowa, only about a hundred miles from here."

"Mutilated body was found near the victim's car, parked on nine-mile road," Sam reads aloud, sounding more than a little disinterested. "Authorities are unable to provide a realistic description of the killer; the soul eyewitness is quoted as saying 'the killer was invisible.'"

"Could be something interesting."

"Or the witness could be in shock and trying to block it all out," I point out in a grouchy tone, taking a drink of my coffee. "There's no way you can be absolutely positive that the so-called _witness_ wasn't even involved in the whole thing." Dean scowls, shaking his head at me.

"But what if it's the real-deal, you know, our department?" I purse my lips, thinking on that for a moment. "Huh, you gonna take that bet or you gonna wuss out on me, Liza?"

"If you're right I'll...do  _one thing_ that you wanna do without complaints." Dean smirks, obviously thinking dirty. Hell, he usually thinks dirty and when he isn't he'll be dead. "If  _I_ win, then you have to take me shopping," I say, confident that I was right. Shopping with me isn't too bad; I spend most of my time in Hot Topic anyway.

"Sounds like a deal." We shake hands, binding the contract. "Remember, there's no backing out now." His eyebrows scrunch together, looking me over. "You okay, you're lookin' a little pale?"

"I'm fine," I answer, taking another drink of coffee and wishing it was something a lot stronger.

* * *

I lay in the backseat of the Impala, munching on some Doritos as Dean drives and Sam sits brooding in the passenger's seat as normal. When the Impala comes to a stop I sit up, noticing we were outside of a frat house...Great. I sigh, opening my door and getting out, making sure to stay close to the guys. "One more time," Sam asks," why are we here?" My question exactly, Sammy.

"Victim lived here." Dean leads us over to three guys working on a car and I roll my eyes as I catch one of them sending a smirk in my direction. "Nice wheels," Dean smiles. "We're your fraternity brothers from Ohio and this is my girlfriend." He pulls me up to the front between him and Sam, one arm wrapped possessively around my waist. "We're new in town, transfers, lookin' for a place to stay." The three guys smirk at each other and I know we're gonna get the room with the weird guy.

"Go on up the stairs inside and look for the door that has a Purple Man poster on it."

"Thanks." Sam, Dean and I head up the stairs once we get inside, doing as we were instructed.

"So, how weird do you think this guy's gonna be," I ask in a hushed voice. Sam shakes his head with a smile on his face at my question. "Come on, do you actually think those douches are gonna give you a room without someone that wouldn't make you want to pull out your hair?" As I finish talking, we reach our destination and I get an eyeful of a skinny college kid painting the top half of his body a dark purple. "Oh..." I'm unable to say anything else, my jaw resting on the floor. This was worse than I thought, and believe me, my thoughts are pretty warped.

"Who are you," he asks, ignoring the obvious look of shock on my face. Sam notices and uses his index finger to close my mouth, patting my shoulder gently.

Dean clears his throat, hiding most of his discomfort a lot better than I was. "We're your new roommates," he says with a slight smile, walking into the room. Why the hell would you paint yourself purple? Kids these days are getting dumber and dumber by the generation!

"Do me a favor and get my back; big game today." Sam and I look at each other before looking at the guy again, feeling more uncomfortable than I thought possible. Spirits and monsters I get, but it's the supposedly normal people that can shock ya.

Dean points to Sam and me over his shoulder saying," They're the artists." I glare at him before taking the bucket of purple paint and letting Sammy have the honor of painting the college idjit. Dean settles down into a chair, flipping through a random magazine that was lying next to it on the floor. "So, Murph, is it true?"

"What do you mean?"

"We heard one of the guys from here got killed last week." Murph gets a sad look on his face, nodding his head.

"Yeah…" It's obvious he doesn't want to talk about it, but to get answers we have to get a bit pushy sometimes.

"What exactly happened to him," I ask, holding up the bucket for Sam.

"They're saying some psycho with a knife, maybe a drifter passing through. Rich was a good guy." Have you ever noticed that when someone dies, even if they were a complete douche, at least one person says they were a good guy or girl?

"We also heard he was with somebody," Sam adds, looking up at Murph from his painting.

"Not just somebody," Murph says, getting his happiness back in a second," Lori Sorenson." Uh, is she the campus whore or something? I couldn't think of any other reason she'd be so well-known unless she was the complete opposite of a whore.

"And who's Lori," Dean asks, then turns his attention to Sam. "By the way, you missed a spot on the lower back." Sam gives him a glare that could rival even the one I was giving. I grab the paint brush and sling some paint at Dean, satisfied when I nail him in the face with it. Yeah, that's what the asshole deserves; you don't give Sam and I paint duty without expecting a little payback in return. The look on Dean's face is priceless, making me wish I had a camera.

"She's a freshman—a local and super hot. And get this: she's a reverend's daughter." Dean leans forward in his seat.

"You wouldn't happen to know which church, would ya?"


	9. 9

"Do I have to go," I whine, not really wanting to sit through church on one of those uncomfortable as hell pews—especially not the next three days.

"What's wrong with you," Dean asks in a low voice so Sam won't overhear us from the bathroom. "You've been bitchy the last two days and when you weren't bitching you looked like you were in some serious…pain." It dawns on him then and I'm sure he feels like the dumbest man alive. "Oh God, it's  _that_ time isn't it?" I nod slowly, downing a couple of Tylenol with some water. "Right…why don't you just lay here while Sammy and I check out Lori and we'll call ya when that's done."

"Great, sounds like a plan." I curl up in the bed Dean and I were sharing, hugging my teddy bear close to me. Yes, I slept with my teddy bear when I didn't feel good—sue me. Sam walks out of the bathroom, dressed and still trying to dry his hair. He takes one look at my teddy bear and nods slowly.

"Lady thing, huh?"

"No shit, Sherlock," Dean snaps, "let's get a move on and let her take a nap." As the boys walk out, I grab the remote and decide to see what's on TV at this time of day.

**Two Hours Later**

"Bridgett, you know he's just gonna run off with your maid again," I shout at the TV screen as if the characters in the soap opera could actually hear me. "Why would she even consider getting married now when her half-brother was just in a damn plane crash?" The cleaning lady sitting next to me shrugs her shoulders.

"Who cares, poor Enrique was just poisoned by his ex-wife and now their daughter is gonna go to a foster home." I nod, passing her another tissue and a chocolate bar. "And let's not forget Enrique's mistress and current wife are hooking up again."

"Good lord, that woman needs to keep it in her pants." As Trisha and I begin another round of tears, Dean and Sam walk in, their conversation stopping the moment they see Trisha. "Oh, guys, this is Trisha; Trisha they're Sam and Dean." Trisha smiles at them, sniffling a little. "We're just watching this show; you can join us if you want."

"Um, actually we were goin' to the library and thought you'd like to go with us," Dean says, sending Trisha suspicious glances every few seconds. News flash, Dean, not everybody's out to get you.

"Alright, I'll see ya later, Trisha." She waves good-bye, grabs her cleaning gear and walks out to go tend to the room next door.

"Why was the maid sitting in bed with you?"

"I told you, we were watching this show." Sam shakes his head in amusement as my explanation was one of the funniest things in the world. "What, shit happens?"

* * *

I sigh from the backseat, rubbing my lower back and taking some more Tylenol. This sucks, I feel like road kill. "You alright back there," Sam asks, looking at me from over his shoulder. I give him a wry smile.

"Never better, Sammy boy."

"Dude, just leave her alone," Dean snaps from the driver's seat, smacking his brother's shoulder. "You know she feels like shit and you're not making it any better." I raise an eyebrow, smacking the back of Dean's head. "What was that for?"

"For bein' a dick to Sam, that's what!" I wrap one arm around Sam's neck, placing a chaste kiss on his cheek. "Piss me off and suffer my reign of terror." Sam chuckles, patting my arm. "Now, I am going to listen to my music and you guys tell me when we get to where we're goin'." Dean parks the Impala and turns to face me after cutting the ignition.

"Hey, Cinderella, we're here."

Fuck me," I groan, dropping my head against the back of the front seat.

* * *

"So you believe her, "Dean asks Sam while we walk through the town's small library, talking about what Lori told them earlier. I look at Sasquatch over my shoulder, head cocked to the right slightly.

"I do," Sam nods.

"I think she's hot too." I smack Dean's shoulder with a laugh, earning his signature smirk. "You would've thought so too."

Snorting, I shake my head. "God, I slept with a girl  _once_ , and I was drunk so it doesn't count."

"Oh, I'd say it definitely counted—it made the top five lays nights of my life." I groan, leaning me head against his shoulder as we continue down the aisle.

"Would you two knock it off," Sam grimaces," there are some things I just don't need to hear. Besides, listen to this: she heard scratching on the roof and found the bloody body suspended upside down over the car." I purse my lips, recognizing those facts instantly; the only thing missing was for someone to find a shiny hook hanging from the driver's side door handle.

"Are we thinkin' Hook Man," I ask," like,  _the Hook Man_?"

Sam shrugs," Every legend has at least a little bit of truth in it."

"Yeah, but why didn't they find the hook dangling from the door handle," I start.

"Or the tire punctures and phantom scratches," Dean finishes.

"Maybe the Hook Man isn't a man at all, what if it's some type of spirit," Sam points out. The three of us look at each other, deciding to find out if any Hook Man-like murders had happened at any other times here.

* * *

"Here you go," a librarian smiles, placing a box of records on the table in front of us," arrest records going back to 1851." She places a second box in front of me just as Dean blows some dust off the first one.

"Thanks," he coughs, smiling. "This is how you spent four good years of your life," he asks Sam, pushing the top off one of the cardboard boxes.

"Welcome to higher education." I smirk, remembering all the times Uncle Bobby and I spent researching for one of John's cases.

**LATER**

I close my tired and sore eyes, resting my head on my arms. God, what I wouldn't give for some extra strength pain killers right about now. "Hey, check this out," Sam says from behind a bookshelf. Dean helps me up from my spot on the floor and we walk over to Sam. "1862, a preacher named Jacob Karns was arrested for murder. He was so angry over the red-light district in town that he killed thirteen prostitutes. It says that some of the deceased were found in their beds, sheets soaked with blood, others suspended from the limbs of trees as warnings against sins of the flesh." Dean pulls another piece of paper out from behind the one that Sam was reading; it had a picture of a man with a hook hand illustrated on it, no doubt it was Jacob Karns.

"Look at this, the murder weapon, the preacher lost his hand in an accident and had it replaced with a silver hook.

"Hey, wasn't our guy's murder out on Nine Mile Road," I ask. Sam nods his head, brushing some of his hair out of his face. "Well, that's where these murders took place."

"Nice job, Dr. Spengler," Dean congratulates," let's go check it out."

"C'mon, I'm more of a Venkman." The three of us head back outside to the Impala, Dean and I still arguing over who would be Venkman while Sam was perfectly fine to be Ray.

"I'm serious, though," I state as we walk into the motel room," Slimer is an adorable little ghostie and I would happily keep him around; especially if Dean was the one to be slimed all the time." Sam laughs, picking up a bottle of beer and settling back on the bed he'd claimed earlier. "Anyway, we're all in agreement that we'll check out Destination Doom later tonight when it's nice and spooky out?"

"That's the plan," Dean sighs, tossing me my own bottle of beer and settling down at the small table where Sammy's laptop sat. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll be doing so research." I say nothing to that, knowing that he'd probably be surfing around for a good porn sight or something. Sam and I share a look, beginning to argue over what TV show to watch-Game of Thrones or Reba.

* * *

Once we reach the place the frat boy was murdered on Nine Mile Road, the three of us quietly got out of the Impala and went to the trunk to get our weapons. Dean hands Sam a shotgun and me a flashlight; that's fine with me, I can do some major bodily harm with the flashlight...Well, unless it's a spirit that is, I just might be screwed tonight. "If it really is a spirit, then buckshot won't do much good," Sam tells Dean, checking that the shotgun was loaded.

"I know," Dean says, handing Sam two shells filled with rock salt. "It won't kill 'em, but it sure as hell slows the bastards down." He hauls a coil of rope over his shoulder and we start walking. _Heh, you and you're stupid fuckin' rope_. Oh, I need to watch Boondock Saints again.

"You and dad think of this?"

"Nope," I say sarcastically," one Easter a bunny showed up and handed 'em to us, Sammy." That earns me a scowl, but the sound of someone else walking around makes all of us freeze. I point the flashlight's beam ahead of us where the sound of a branch breaking had come from. Sam brings the shotgun up, pointing it in the direction I was pointing the flashlight. The three of us tense, waiting for some sort of attack to happen.

What we didn't expect was to have a cop run out, pointing pistols at us and telling Sam to put his gun down. "Put your hands behind your head and get on your knees!" We do as he says, more shocked than anything else. "On your knees! Now on your bellies!"

" _He_ had the gun," Dena grumbles. Great, now we look  _really_ suspicious.

 


	10. 10

I had managed to convince the cop that was questioning me that it was just a morbid curiosity that made me follow dumb and dumber to the crime scene, thankfully I'm a decent enough liar and he bought it, letting me go with just a warning. Walking towards the motel, I let a smug grin settle on my lips, happy I'd gotten out before Dean or Sammy. "I guess I'm just that good," I mumble under my breath. I wonder how long it'll take for the guys to get themselves out of trouble?

* * *

When Dean walked into the motel room, the last thing he expected to see was Elizabeth wearing only an oversized T-shirt and a pair of boxers, dancing and singing to some weird song. Eyes raking over her swaying form, he was glad he told Sam to wait in the car while he went to fetch their friend. What surprised him the most was the fact that she was actually a good singer. "Through missing keys and broken strings the music was our own," she sings softly, eyes still shut," until the day we said our last goodbyes the baby grand was sent away, a child all alone, to pray somebody else would realize that something secondhand and broken still can make a pretty sound." She turned to face him completely, opening her eyes and pausing mid-word when she noticed that she was no longer alone in the room.

"Wow," he said," you're...that was really somethin'." He meant it too; she had a nice voice that kind of reminded him of his mom's when she would sing him her favorite Beetles song. He could feel himself begin to blush the longer she stared at him, obviously embarrassed that she'd been caught. "Um, Sam's out in the car and we think Hook's struck again."

"Right," she nods, grabbing her duffle and running into the bathroom; coming out a few minutes later in what Dean had dubbed her FBI skirt, a black T-shirt that had  _The North Remembers_ in blood red letters, and a pair of green and silver Slytherin high heels. "What are we waiting for?" Dean clears his throat, taking in the legs that are usually hidden by a pair of jeans or sweats, feeling himself begin to harden uncomfortably in his jeans.

Her eyes widen when Dean crosses the space between them in two long strides, one arm wrapping around her waist and pulling her against him, his free hand tangling in the hair at the base of her neck as he pulls her into a deep kiss. It doesn't take Elizabeth long to respond to his passion, her arms wrapping around his neck. Dean had never kissed her like this before, it was always just lust the last few times, but this was somehow different... The pair fell onto one of the beds, Elizabeth straddling Dean's waist.

"Oh, come on!" The pair breaks apart, Elizabeth nearly falling in the floor. Sam shakes his head at his brother and best friend, feeling a little disgusted even though he knew it was bound to happen sometime; there had always been a sexual tension between Liza and Dean since junior prom. "If you two wouldn't mind finishing this up later, could we go, I don't know, work the case?"

* * *

I blush, following Sam out to the Impala and leaving Dean panting on the bed. "I'm sorry, Sam." He holds up a hand to stop me, shaking his head.

"I  _really_ don't want to talk about it." When Dean climbs in the driver's seat I begin to blush all over again, but not entirely from embarrassment, more so because I liked what had happened and wanted to experience it again at least once more and I hoped he felt the same way.


	11. 11

We drive past a sorority house, spotting who Sam says is Lori Sorenson sitting in the back of an ambulance, looking relatively unharmed. "I'd say it's a safe bet that this is the place we're lookin' for," I state, taking in the police cars and the stretcher they were loading into the back of a second ambulance. "I wonder who bit the dirt." Sam shoots me his signature 'shut up' look and I fall silent with a shrug, tossing my heels onto the seat beside me. They may be cute, but my God, those things make my toes feel as though they were suffering through the Spanish Inquisition. Wow, okay, I admit that was a bad example, but my point is valid. "I'll call Zane and see if he can dig up anything."

I pull out my cell and press two, waiting for my friend to pick up. "Buddy the Elf," his happy voice says.

"The north doesn't remember you." Zane sighs, probably shaking his head because I didn't ask him his favorite color.

"What can I do ya for, 'Lizabeth?"

"The usual, I wanna know everything about the girl that was recently murdered at a sorority here in Ankeny Iowa." He lets out a low whistle, tapping away at his computer. "She was found recently, so I doubt she'd be in a database, but I'll take a look-see in her room to find out what I can, then text it to ya."

"Sounds good, baby girl; Tom wants to know what you thought of his latest song."

"Tell him that I loved it and he should send me a ticket when the play makes it to Broadway." Tom Levitt is Zane's cousin and he's a big song writer in New York; I've known him for as long as I've known Zane—going on ten years now. "I'll text ya soon, Zane." I hang up and put my cell inside one of my heels, climbing out of the now parked Impala and follow the guys to one side of the sorority house. We walk carefully so we don't attract any unwanted attention.

"Why would Hook come here," Sam wonders in a quiet whisper," I mean, this is pretty far from Nine Mile Road."

"Maybe Lori summoned him, ya know, now she's just playing the part of frightened sorority girl," I suggest with a shrug of my shoulders. Sam frowns at me, flicking my forehead—I step on his foot to return the favor and Dean turns and flicks us both without hesitation.

"Maybe it's not Nine Mile Road he's haunting," Dean suggests, sounding as though Sam and I should've already knew this. "Maybe it's about something else entirely." A couple of girls come out of the house and Dean instantly sticks his arm out to push Sam and me behind him against the house where none of us could be seen. Dean grins, watching the girl's retreating forms. "Dude, you guys think we'll see a naked pillow fight?" No one answers him, Sammy and me already using the few foot and hand holds we could find to climb up to a small balcony with Dean following directly behind us.

As I'm pulling myself up onto the balcony I can feel Dean's hand on my ass. "Seriously, you're picking now of all times to do that," I ask with a raised eyebrow and a grin. Dean gives me a shit-eating grin of his own.

"Just helping you up, Liza."  _Yeah, I'll believe that when I see it_. Sam finds an unlocked window and climbs inside headfirst; I follow after him, landing hard on my belly.  _That's okay, who needs air anyway_? Dean lands beside me with a loud thump that makes Sam spin around and glare.

"Be quiet," he hisses.

"Me be quiet? You be quiet."

"Both of you need to shut the hell up," I growl, looking around the storage closet we landed in. I stand behind Sam, waiting for him to enter the bedroom on the other side of the door so I move and stop Dean from breathing down my damn neck. I bring my elbow back sharply and nail him in the stomach, making him back up a couple feet. Sam ignores me and slowly opens the door, leading us inside the blood-splattered room. Well, isn't that just lovely. A strip of crime scene tape halved the room and carved into the wall on the bloody half was something I never thought I'd see.

"Aren't you glad you didn't turn on the light," Sam quotes, all three of us staring at the wall.

"Well, at least we know exactly what spirit we're dealing with this time," I sigh, looking down at the good-sized cross carved into the wall just under the words, a nagging voice in the back of my mind saying I should know where I've seen it before. Dean walks over to the window and looks out to check if anyone was about to enter the house, but Sam and I continue to stare at the mark.

"Dean, come here." Dean walks over to us.

"That look familiar?"

"Annoyingly so," Dean nods. I look around the room, trying to find something of the dead girl's that would help Zane in his search. Going through her nightstand, I find a picture and a post card that she was going to send to her mom, but never got the chance. So her name's Taylor Barnes and she looked like a party girl. Taylor was attractive with a mocha skin tone and dark brown eyes, leaning against some dude and holding a beer bottle. Sam nudges me, saying to wipe off where I've touched anything and meet them back at the Impala.

* * *

Sam, Dean, and I sit on the hood of the Impala, looking down at the scans Sammy had made of the papers from the library. A small charm hung from Jacob's hook, and it looked exactly like the mark carved into the wall back in the sorority house. "It's gotta be the spirit of Jacob Karns," Sam sighs, looking at the paper with the hook on it.

"So, we'll salt and burn the bastard," I shrug, rubbing my lower back. The pain was easing up and I knew that it wouldn't last much longer.

"After execution, Jacob Karns was laid to rest in Old North cemetery in an unmarked grave," Sam reads aloud; I rest my head in my hands and let out a long, frustrated groan. We all stand up and I open the back door of the Impala, picking up the book I was reading earlier today— _Inside HBO's Game of Thrones_. Yes, I am a geek—I'll happily admit that. "Well, we know who it is, but we've yet to figure out where he'll manifest and why." Dean picks up a ticket that was stuck to his window, barely giving it a second glance before he turns to face Sam and I again.

"I'll take a wild guess and say that Liza's half-right; Lori might have something to do with this." I give Sammy a smug look, getting in the car and shutting the door behind me.

* * *

The fraternity house we were in had a party going in full swing; music blasting, people dancing, talking, or drinking. Why the hell didn't I go to college and do this as often as possible? "You've been holding out," Dean smirks at his younger brother," this college thing is  _awesome_!" Sam looks uncomfortable as hell, probably skipping most of these things when he was in college.

"This wasn't really my experience," he says, hands stuffed in his jacket pocket. I smile at a passing guy who looked to be about a year older than me, biting my lower lip and winking. Damn, why did I skip all this? "Anyway, I found something you guys might deem interesting." He pulls out some papers to hand to Dean as we begin walking through the throng of people.

"1932, clergyman arrested for murder," Deans reads before going to the next page. "1967, Seminarian held for hippie rampage." We stop when we reach a mostly empty room so we could talk without too much worry of being overheard by someone.

"There's a pattern; in both cases the suspect was a man of religion who openly preached against immorality and then found himself wanted for killings he claimed by an invisible force, killing carried out with a sharp instrument." I raise an eyebrow, not seeing what Sam was so excited about or what this had to do with Lori Sorenson.

"Mind explaining a little more for me, Sammy," I ask, seeing that Dean was just as lost as I was.

"A man of religion," he says as if it was the most obvious thing in the world," who openly preached against immorality; except, maybe this time he's just trying to save his daughter and not the town." You know, now that he said it I can see why he thought it was obvious. Lori's dad was a preacher and he most likely preached against immorality while his daughter lived in a sorority house with a notorious party girl.

"You think the reverend is summoning the spirit," Dean asks.

"Yeah, or the spirit isn't haunting a specific place, but a person."

"It'd make sense—I mean, it's feeding off repressed emotion and the rev wouldn't have a clue about it," I nod.

"Why don't you keep an eye on Lori tonight and me and Liza'll try and find that grave."


	12. 12

We arrive at the cemetery, careful to watch for cops or passing vehicles; it'd be pretty hard to explain why we were in a cemetery in the middle of the night with a sawed-off shotgun, two shovels, a canister of salt, some lighter fluid, and matches. There's no way to lie about that and get off with a warning, even if I resorted to the crying routine; I can see it now:  _I'm so sorry officer, I thought this was the place the rave was being held_. Yeah, that would never work.

I clutch my flashlight tightly in my hand, knuckles turning white as I continue to look around me for the grave we need. Hopefully, Hook wouldn't attack when Sammy was by himself. Twigs snapping make Dean and I pause and look more thoroughly around us for whomever—or  _whatever—_ caused the noise. After a few minutes of hearing nothing but crickets, we continue, but with even more caution than before. Dean taps my arm, gesturing for me to follow him down a small hill and to a grave marker that had a familiar cross on it and nothing else. "Hello, preacher man, just gonna take a small looksee," I quip, laying my flashlight on the ground to make digging easier.

Digging up a body was never easy work, in fact, it wasn't even easier said than done; the shit just plain sucks. But I do it and I know that it'll save someone's life and they'll probably never even realize it. That's just how this job works, I've long since gotten used to it. "That's it," Dean gasps a twenty minutes later," next time I get to watch the cute girl's house."

"Fine with me as long as I get to leave with the cute fraternity guy," I shrug, rubbing my sore shoulders for a second before continuing to dig. This bastard had better be in there or I'm gonna hit Dean with this fuckin' shovel!

* * *

After what feels like centuries, we hit pay-dirt and use the shovels to smash in the lid of the coffin, wincing at the smell that wafts out. The smell of dead people is something you never really get used to because it varies every time. "Hello, Jake," Dean smirks, climbing out of the hole and helping me out as well. I soak the bones in lighter fluid while Dean salts them, making sure to cover ever inch we can possibly get so that there's not a snowball's chance in hell that this guy's coming back. Dean throws a book of lit matches in with the bones and we watch it burn. "Goodbye, Jake." Once satisfied, I trudge back to the Impala and collapse in the backseat. This was one hell of a day.

Dean would wait by the grave until the bones were dust, then come get me to help fill in the grave again. I try to relax, feeling aches and pains everywhere; I'm gonna need a nice, hot bath and some Tylenol to make me feel even halfway decent. The next thing I know, Dean's interrupting my dream of Johnny Depp giving me a massage. I glare at the brave man, hatefully grabbing the mountain dew from his outstretched hand. "This had better be good, Winchester, or my boot'll meet that ass of yours."

"I got a call from Sammy; we gotta meet him at the hospital." I'm wide awake now, worried about Sammy and wondering what the hell happened to him that caused the need of a hospital. "Apparently the preacher was attacked by Hook or somethin'." Dean starts the car and tears out of the motel parking lot, leaving skid marks behind him.

"We burned that bastard though," I pout, not really wanting to do anything more than sleep right now. "It's not...but...son of a bitch..." Dean nods, giving me a sympathetic nod when he sees my face in the rear view mirror. Using my phone, I look to see how truly awful I look; tousled blond hair, smudged eyeliner, and a little drool and dirt. Well, a fast food napkin will take care of most of that and I can always run my fingers through my hair until it's somewhat tame again. "Do we have any—" a half-empty bottle of Tylenol is tossed in the backseat and I grin at Dean, popping a couple in my mouth and washing them down with my soda.

* * *

A couple police officers stop us in the hospital hallway, keeping me from running to Sammy and smacking him for making me worry. Well, that was probably a good thing because Sammy didn't need any Elizabeth-induced brain trauma. "It's all right," Dean tells them, trying to get past without using force," we're with him, he's out brother."

"Sammy," I snarl," call off the guard mutts or I will." The cop Sam was talking to nods his head and lets us come forward, meeting Sam in the middle and staying quiet until we were sure the cops weren't within earshot. "Are you okay, you stubborn jackass?" He nods, looking behind him for a moment before facing Dean and I again.

"The Hook man showed up," Sam tells us with a glare," you two were supposed to torch the bones not fool around back at the motel room!" I run a hand through my hair again, frowning slightly. I don't look like I just had sex, I look like some moron let me sleep in the backseat of a damn car.

"We did," Dean insists, covering my mouth with his hand and muffling my snarky retort. "Are you sure it was Karns?"

"I'm pretty sure no other spirit can pop up out of nowhere and impale a man on a hook; I think the spirit is latching onto Lori, last night her father said he was having an affair with a  _married woman_." At Dean's so what face, Sam continues. "Believe it or not, that's immoral, and Lori was raised to believe that if you do something wrong you get punished."

"Sooo, that's pretty much Hook's calling card and now he's punishing the people she thinks deserve it even though she doesn't know she thinks what she thinks," I ramble, looking up at the guys to see if I was right.

"Exactly."

"But, those bones are beyond dust and they're so salty that not even Uncle Bobby would touch 'em, so why is he still hanging around?"

"Don't say we missed somethin' either, because we even burned the damn coffin," Dean says, beating his brother to the punch. We grow silence, trying to figure out why and how Jacob Karns is still trying to gank people.

"Did you guys get the hook?" I open and close my mouths for a few seconds, trying to remember if I even saw a hook last night, but drew a blank. "It  _was_ the murder weapon and it was technically part of him."

"So, like the bones, it's a source of his powers."

"And if we find the bones..." Sam prompts.

"We stop the Hook Man," the three of us finish together.  _And back to the library we go._

* * *

I never thought I would grow to hate libraries, but this case is giving me a migraine and I can't wait for it to be over and behind us. Yawning, I turn the page of the book in front of me and stare at it blankly; I need caffeine or I'll go insane and make Hook look like a damn saint. I shake my head, blinking a couple of times and deciding that these contacts weren't working.  _I'll have Uncle Bobby set me up an eye appointment later so I can get some glasses and not the hipster glasses either. I don't wanna look like Urkel_! "I think I finally found something," Dean says after taking a pen cap out of his mouth.

Sam and I look over at him hopefully. "This better be a good something," I mutter to myself, head beginning to throb.

"It's the logbook for Iowa State Penitentiary; Karns, Jacob—personal affects, disposition thereof." I roll my eyes, letting my head fall onto my arms.

"Does it even mention what we're trying to find," Sammy asks, patting my shoulder. Dean scowls at his brother, holding up a hand to shut him up and saying," Upon execution, all earthly objects will be remanded to the prisoner's place of worship: St. Barnabus church."

"That's where Sammy's crush lives, ain't it," I ask without looking up," and where the hospitalized preacher did his thing?"

"Maybe that's why the spirit's been haunting reverends and reverend's daughters for the past two hundred years." I turn my face so I can see the two men, eyes half-closed and missing the energy I usually have.

"Wouldn't someone have seen the hook if were there," Sam points out," I mean, with all the blood that would be covering it and all that." I purse my lips, brows furrowed as I try to think where a hook could be kept in a church well out of sight so as not to alarm anyone.

"I'll check the church records." Groaning, I close my eyes and pout while another large book is placed in front of me.

A couple hours later, Sammy finds something of interest, reading it aloud for us to hear. "St, Barnabus, donations, 1862; received: silver-handled hook from state penitentiary. Reforged." I face palm again. This is going to make our search that much more difficult.

"We are so fucked," I state dully, slamming my book shut and laying it on the table in front of me. "We are beyond just plain fucked, we're jungle fucked."

"God, I told you not to let her watch Boondock Saints last night," Dean scolds Sam," now she's gonna be quoting it for the next month and a half." I cross my arms over my chest with my head held up high. He's just jealous 'cause he can't quote movies like me; I'd make Tony DiNozzo proud if he were a real person and not a fictional character.

**Later**

We pull up in front of the church, the Impala's engine idling. I rest my arms on the front seat, looking between the guys at the larch church and house combo. The three of us share a look, Dean cutting the engine and all of us stepping out into the cool air. I was barefoot again and happily so; shoes were only something I wore when absolutely necessary. "No chances, we melt anything that even looks like it could be silver," Dean tells us, stopping a few feet in front of the Impala.

"We're gonna have to break in since Lori's stayin' with her dad at the hospital," Sam adds, turning his head to look at me. I shrug, holding out a hand for Dean's lock pick.

"Well, I could use the practice." Dean pulls the small tool out of his pocket and lays them in my outstretched palm. "Who's goin' where?"

"I'll take the church," Dean says. Sam takes the house, which leaves me with the basement and getting the fire ready. "Oh, and Sammy, stay out of her underwear drawer." Sam scoffs with a small smile as I lead the way to our destinations; picking the lock on the front door of Lori's house first and then the church's side door.

Holding the flashlight out in front of me, I begin looking around the musty basement for anything that could be silver—finding a cup, a shovel, some silverware, a tiny pot, and some jewelry. Like Dean said, we can't afford to take any chances because that could get someone killed; most likely one of us since we're basically the dumb kids that poke a hornet's nest with a friggin' stick. "Alrighty, let's get started on that fire," I mumble to myself with a self-satisfied smile, carefully walking around the piles of junk to the furnace.

I strike a match on the iron side of the furnace and toss it onto the logs piled inside followed by half a container of salt, and then all the things I've found. Dean crouches next to me, dumping the items he'd found out of a burlap sack and into the flames. "Wouldn't have found the actual hook down here, would ya," he asks with a wry smile.

"If I had I would 'a said somethin', Einstein." He chuckles, nodding his head and looking up at the stairs as Sam begins his descent into the dark hole that is this basement. "What about you, Sammy, find anything that you'd keep in your pocket—a thong or two maybe?"

"God, you're as bad as Dean sometimes," he smirks.

"What's that supposed to mean," Dean and I ask in unison. Sammy throws the pillowcase full of silver into the fire and we watch as in begins to burn and melt, feeling a little too full of confidence. This case had been a doozy and I'll be glad when it's finally over and I can go visit Lilly. A squeaky floorboard upstairs makes us pause, watching as dust falls from above us. I pull my pistol from the waistband of my skirt at the same time as Dean and Sam; then follow them quickly but quietly up the rickety stairs into the main part of the church.

After pausing in the doorway with our weapons raised we can barely make out the weeping form of Lori sitting in one of the rows of pews. I pat Sam's shoulder, Dean and I going back downstairs and letting Sam comfort the blonde while we make sure that everything was melting. "You sure it was smart leaving Sam up there when Hook's attached to Lori," I ask, finding and iron poker to push a silver cup more into the fire and watching as it slowly begins to melt.

Dean shrugs," If somethin' happens up there we'll still hear it, Liza." I nod, thinking of Lilly and how I would explain such a long absence to her. She hates it when I stay gone for so long, but it is part of the job and I'm doing everything I can think of to keep her out of it—I want her to have a normal life and a family of her own, not to be an obsessed hunter like I was raised to be. Screaming jerks me out of my thoughts and sends me running up the stairs with Dean right behind me.

"I knew we should've stayed up there," I shout, pistol in hand while Dean just grumbles under his breath and readies the sawed-off shotgun. We follow the screams into what looks like an office, Hook standing over Lori, ready to do its worst. "Hey, bitch!" Hook turns in my direction and Dean nails it with the rock salt-filled shells, making the spirit disappear for a short time.

"I thought we got all the silver," Sam yells.

"I thought so too," I nod, looking around us for the ghost. "But apparently we missed something, so get off your ass and start lookin'!" Sam looks down at Lori and seems to notice something I didn't.

"Where'd you get that chain?" Lori and I both look down at her necklace and I see immediately what Sam meant. A silver cross on a silver chain hung around her neck and it could be the key to killing the bastard.

"My dad gave it to me." She's close to tears again, but we don't have time to comfort her. "He said it was a church heirloom." Sam snatches it and tosses it to Dean to go take care of down in the basement. Before Dean had the chance to move, a scratching sound reaches our ears. It looked like Jacob was dragging his hook along the wall, gouging it like he no doubt wanted to do to all of us. It starts on the ceiling in the room we're in and that gives Dean enough motivation to start running and throw the shotgun and shells to Sam. Jacob appears out of thin air, surprising me and making me slow to react; knocking me into a wall and the air from my lungs. Gasping, I watch as his slowly begins to burn, meaning we'd picked the right item this time.

About fucking time something went right!

* * *

The next morning we call the cops and give them our report of fighting off a crazed lunatic and making him run for the hills. I climb into the back seat of the Impala, my feet resting on the back of the front seat near Dean's head. "You know, I believe I won out little wager," he smirks," you have to do something I want."

"And what would that be," I ask around a yawn.

"Hmm, well, it involves a bed and I don't mean sleepin'." With a smile, I roll my eyes.

"Fine, you'll get it after I'm rested up, not before." The entire time we were talking, he'd been watchin' Sam in the side mirror until said person is sitting beside him in the front seat.

"We could stay a little longer..." Sam shakes his head, relaxing in his seat and nursing his cut arm.

_I understand about indecision/But I don't care if I get behind/People livin' in competition/All I want is to have my peace of mind./Now you're climbin' to the top of the company ladder/Hope it doesn't take too long/Can'tcha you see there'll come a day when it won't matter/Come a day when you'll be gone_


	13. BACK TO THE PAST

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is gonna be an original case that I came up with, sorry if it sucks.

Vivian never expected what happened that quiet night when everything had started out so perfectly. Her father would be coming back soon to spend Christmas with her and her little sister—the only family the General had left. Vivian sighs happily, making sure her dress was in perfect order to make her father happy; he loved things to be perfect and he expected his girls to look and behave as he'd taught them to be. She picks up the note she'd gotten two days ago, re-reading the words written in her father's small handwriting.

_Vivian,_

_I am writing to let you know that I will begin the journey back to our home for Christmas only. By the time you receive this letter, and if all things go well, I should be home in only three days. There's been talk around the camp about spies and such like; I don't want you to offer any stranger lodgings for yours and little McKenzie's safety._

_With love,_

_General Grant L. Mayson_

He would be back sometime today and she couldn't wait to see him again. McKenzie was only four and was having a difficult time remembering their father, having been two when he left the last time to fight in the war. Here in their home it was quiet and almost unaffected by the war except for a few troops marching by and asking for a bit of food to help them; one man, not with the army, stayed to help out and had said he wanted to court Vivian.

Of course, Flynn would have to ask her father first, and she hoped that her father would say yes and give her this one thing. "Viv," Flynn calls, walking up the stairs and stopping just outside her door, long brown hair matted to his face in spots where it'd come out of its tie. "Maria said dinner's nearly finished and asked me to come get ya 'fore I cleaned myself up."

Laughing a little, Vivian nods, brushing the loose stranding behind the tall man's ear. "Alright, hurry up and get clean and put on somethin' nice; my dad should be home tonight and he likes things perfect."

"No one's perfect."

"Hmm, you're pretty close sometimes." He smiles, blue eyes' glittering with what she believes is love—he leans down to kiss her lightly on the lips, sighing when he takes a step back. "One day we'll be married and we won't have to worry about my father and what he thinks is perfect." Flynn smiles again, entering the room across the hall to get cleaned up. Vivian, lifts the skirt of her dress slightly, careful not to show skin, and makes her way downstairs and into the kitchen; helping McKenzie to set the table.

* * *

Maria, McKenzie, Flynn, and Vivian immediately stand when the General enters the sitting room, his two daughters walking over and giving him a tight hug; missing the warmth he gave off. "Aw, my girls," Grant chuckles, hugging them back and giving Maria and nod. When Grant's happy green eyes land on Flynn his eyes darken and his eyes narrow into a fierce glare. "Who is this man and why is he in my house?" Vivian shrinks back, shoving McKenzie behind her nanny in case her father grew too angry.

"This is Flynn, he's been helping us for nearly a year now," Vivian tells him quietly, head bowed as she was unable to meet her father's gaze. "He's a good man and...And..."

"And what, Vivian?" Flynn steps forward, looking too confident for Grant's liking.

"I think what your daughter's trying to say is that I wish to court her, sir," he says in a cool voice, lightly touching Vivian's arm with the tips of his fingers to see if she was okay. "And I think you're scaring the little one." Grant grinds his teeth in anger, knowing this man could be dangerous and that his eldest daughter couldn't see the bad in anybody until they proved it. "Perhaps we should talk about this tomorrow, General, your family is tired and I'm sure you are to after riding for so long."

"You can be sure we'll talk about this," the General snarls, storming up the stairs to his private study for some much needed quiet.

"Maybe I should go check on him." Flynn shakes his head, taking her arms and leading her up the stairs to her room.

"No, you need your rest as well; I'm sure we'll be having some excitement soon enough." Flynn kisses her again for a little longer than usual; his mind thinking of what he would be able to have soon...

* * *

A loud bang makes Vivian jerk awake with a start, looking around blindly for a book of matches—finally finding some and lighting the oil lamp on her bedside table. Her room is empty but she can still hear noises somewhere in the house. Hesitantly, she leaves her bed and starts across the room to the door, but before she can make it there her door slams open to reveal the grinning faces of two men; neither of which are familiar. "Who are you," Vivian demands, sounding just as scared as she feels do to the tremor in her voice.

"They're my brothers." She looks past the two men, finding Flynn staring at her calmly. He walks past the two men and over to her, stopping a couple feet away to admire her. "She's mine, don't hurt the little girl, and shut the door behind you." The two men agree readily enough, leaving Flynn alone with Vivian, eyes greedily taking in her heaving bosom and the skin revealed by her shift. "Oh, don't look so shocked, Viv; I had this planned since before I even met ya." Vivian slaps him then, hard enough to make his head turn. Chuckling, Flynn catches her wrist before she could hit him again—pulling her flush against him.

"Let me go, you disgusting little worm!" She struggles against him as he continues to push her to the bed in the corner of the room; then pushes her down on it and crawls on top of her.

"Been waitin' a long time for this..."


	14. 14

"I swear to God, Dean," I snarl, spinning around to face the man with a wooden spoon in hand," if you don't stop that damn tapping you'll need surgery to have this spoon removed!" He gives me a weird look, laying his hands flat on the small dining room table. "What is it now?" I turn back towards the stove again, stirring the chili I was cooking for lunch and adding some of Dean's beer into it along with some Cayenne pepper.

"Your eyes flickered a little, almost looked like a demon."

"You know they do that from time to time." They had recently started doing that and it had me on edge—the demon blood inside me was beginning to get stronger than the human. Zane said it was normal for our kind to begin to level out in our early twenties; each type would try to become more prominent than the others so I'll go through a few changes for the next month—I should go back to normal after that. "And I hope you're starving because this is gonna last us awhile."

"I'll always be hungry," he murmurs huskily in my ear, nipping the lobe and winding his arms around my waist. "Your cooking's just a plus." I let out a shaky breath, letting my head drop back onto his shoulder and baring my neck to him.

"Dean, Uncle Bobby and Sam will be back any minute," I tell him breathlessly, turning in his arms and beginning to work on his buttoned shirt. Dean groans a little, his lips connecting with mine in a kiss that had me gripping his shoulders just to stay on my feet. His hands slide from my waist to grip my ass and lift me up, forcing me to wrap my legs around his hips. The front door slamming open makes Dean and I jump and break the heated kiss; Dean sets me down on my feet and sits at the table again, building a tower with dominoes. As I focus on slowing my breathing, I turn back around and continue to cook the chili. "Hand me some brown sugar," I demand to whoever would actually listen, holding one hand out while I used the other to flip the deer meat over in the skillet.

"Here ya go, Liza," Sam yawns, handing me the small plastic package. I put a couple of handfuls in the mixture and then a pinch of the sugar in my mouth. Brown sugar is amazing and I couldn't get enough of the stuff. "I'm gonna go shower."

"Good, you smell like piss," I remark, stealing a sip from Dean's beer. Sam grunts, tracking up the stairs. "I'm not cleaning that up."

"Thanks for cooking tonight, Liz," Bobby says, plopping down in one of the kitchen chairs and taking the fresh bottle of beer from Dean with a nod. "You don't know how happy I am that you got your cooking skills from your mom…"

"But I can only cook chili."

"Yeah, and you cook a damn good chili." Laughing, I turn off both burners and start getting bowls out of the cabinets. "What kind of meat are ya mixin' in it this time?"

"Some of the deer you shot yesterday and the rest of the rabbit—it should be interesting." Dean scoffs, grabbing a bowl and bumping me out of his way so that he can start eating. I share a look with Bobby before abandoning the too-hot kitchen for the living room and a re-run of Once Upon a Time. All of us had just got back from a three-week Ghoul hunt; that fucker dislocated my shoulder and nearly broke my pinkie finger—not to mention the fact that I  _did_ break my little toe when I was shaken awake by a frantic Dean and had to run with him out to the car which lead to me stubbing my little toe on the corner of the wall. Needless to say, this little vacation has been nice and pain free.

Uncle Bobby plops down on the couch next to me, setting a bottle of beer on the coffee table and leaning back to eat and watch TV with me. "So, what's happening in this episode?" I smirk to myself, leaning my head against his shoulder.

"Hook gets his ass beat," I answer, stealing a bit of his chili with a triumphant look. This is one of my favorite episodes so far and I bought it on iTunes in case I get bored while on the road with the guys. "I guess this latest hunt didn't go so well, huh, Uncle B?" Bobby shrugs, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and pulling me closer to him.

"Eh, Sam and I got distracted in town and by the time we got out to the woods some idjit's were makin' too much noise." He leans forward and picks up today's newspaper and drops it in my lap for me to look through. What surprised me was that it wasn't from Sioux Falls or even South Dakota—it's from Oklahoma. The headline read:

**KRUEGER'S LASTEST VICTIM**   
_The serial killer, known to police as Krueger, has struck again—this time in Tulsa. The victim is Charlotte Kent, a seventeen-year-old track star. Like the other victims, she had four slanted gashes on her chest—she died of blood loss soon afterwards. The police have found no evidence at any of the three crime scenes and believe this to be the work of a professional and are unable to find any leads at this time._

I raise an eyebrow at the article, supposing this is the one my uncle meant for me to read and not the cooking tips on the side panel. "Is this serious?"

"As far as I can tell; a hunter mailed it to me three days ago askin' for some help; you up for it, Cinderella?" I grin at him, standing up and bolting upstairs to pack a bag. "Is that a yes?"


	15. 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I'm basing the cop in this chapter of Ralph Fiennes (Voldemort).

Dean glances at Elizabeth using the Impala's rear-view mirror and isn't shocked to see her reading a  _Harry Potter_ book. She could be a total geek when she wanted to and often bitched about missing a Doctor Who marathon or a new episode of Game of Thrones. Sam groans slightly, rubbing his eyes and closing his laptop. "There are only a couple of things that connect these victims."

"Hmm, and what's that," Dean asks, eyes going back to the highway. There was no way that he would risk damaging his baby because his brother wanted his attention.

"They are almost carbon copies of Liza and then there's the way they were killed." That's great; now he had to worry about some creepy critter trying to murder Elizabeth. "Maybe we should keep Liza out of this one, Dean, I mean, this might not end well if she tags along." Dean knows his brother was right, but also knew that Liza would come anyway and it was safer to keep her close to them.

"We'd have to tie her to a chair and we both know it only takes so long to break out of that."

"We have to do something, Dean."

"No shit," Elizabeth grumbles," you need to shut up so I can focus on my book. The look she sent their way could have frozen water. "It's just getting to the good part where they encounter Scabior." So it's the last  _Harry Potter_ book then—one of her favorites. "Sexy, sexy, Scabior." Dean rolls his eyes, the corners of his mouth drawn into an annoyed frown. He didn't understand her fixation with the rugged Snatcher; he looked ridiculous, wearing plaid pants and a leather overcoat.  _My God,_  Dean thinks incredulously _, I'm jealous of a fictional character!_  He shakes his head slightly in disbelief. Dean slows down slightly as he enters Tulsa, noticing immediately that it was much larger than he thought it was—not to mention busy as all get out. "Just like I remember," Elizabeth muses upon looking out the window.

She'd gone to college here for a year and a half after graduating high school in Sioux Falls. "I hope the Long John Silver's here is as good as you promised," Sam states, turning slightly in his seat to look at the woman that might as well be his sister. They were passed off as siblings in elementary school—almost twins since they were the same age. Elizabeth shrugs her shoulders, putting her book away and pulling out her phone.

"You and me both, Sammy," she smiles," you and me both." Dean chuckles a little, pulling into the parking lot of a Super 8 where all of them would be staying for however long it took to gank the critter responsible for this mess. "Uncle Bobby said he called ahead to book us rooms and told the clerk that I'd come in to get the room keys."

"Alright, we'll wait for ya here, I guess." Liza nods, grabbing her messenger bag and fake I.D. and heading into the motel to get the room keys.

* * *

I stretch a little after exiting the Impala, yawning slightly before walking into the motel lobby. Behind the front desk was a teen with close-cropped, ginger hair, pasty complexion, and freckles; in front of him was a cop. "Be with you in a minute," the clerk tells me in a mousy voice, holding up one finger in case I couldn't hear him. The cop turns around slightly, blue eyes growing wide when he sees me and face going pale.

"Officer Clarke," the cop introduces, holding out a hand for me to shake. I smile softly, shaking his hand and hanging on a little longer than necessary.

"Lorraine Gamgee," I tell him with a flirty smirk; one he returns before nodding a goodbye to the clerk and then to me. "See you soon, officer." He grins over his shoulder at me, brushing some dark brown hair out of his face. I walk up to the desk, leaning on it slightly and smiling as the teen's eyes are drawn to my cleavage for a moment before darting back up to meet my eyes. "My uncle called ahead and booked two rooms under the name Pete Lovett." The clerk turns to his computer and begins to type until he finds what he's looking for.

"Yeah, it's right here." He spins the chair around and scoots it over to the key card box before scooting back over to me and handing them over. "Thanks for choosing Super 8 as your place to stay." I give his a slight nod before heading back out to the Impala, shocked when I see the cop from earlier leaning in the passenger's side window and talking to the guys. Smiling, I tilt my head to the side, admiring Clarke's ass in the Wranglers that fit him so well.

"Liza, you okay back there?" I glance over Clarke's shoulder at Dean, giving him a devious smirk.

"Oh, I'm more than alright." Clarke looks over his shoulder at me, giving me a confused grin.

"This fine officer is Alexander Clarke, he was just warning us to take extra precautions while that weirdo's out on the loose and killin' women." I nod, leaning against the Impala without taking my eyes off Alexander.

"Well, then, I guess it's a good thing we all have concealed carry licenses," I quip, tilting my head to the side as I take more of the officer in. Alexander clears his throat, looking down at the ground. "Don't worry, officer, I know what I'm doing."

"I'm sure you do, Miss Gamgee," he murmurs with a soft smile that lit up his handsome face. Sam rolls his eyes, going back to reading the book I had let him borrow. Alexander clears his throat," Well, I have to get back to work; hopefully I'll see you around." At Dean's loud snort, a blush appears on Alexander's face. "Ma'am, gentlemen," he nods, walking back to his cruiser as I get in the car and stretch out.

"What rooms did your uncle book for us?" I toss the two key cards in the front between the two brothers, picking my _Harry Potter_ book back up and beginning to read where I'd left off. Mmm, that Scabior! Smiling to myself, I settle in with a throw blanket over my feet, a book in my hand, and a classic rock song playing on the radio. This is the life for me.


	16. 16

A dark figure stalks towards a house, quickly disabling the alarm and picking the lock before entering. Once inside, he stands still for a moment to let his eyes adjust to the low lighting of the kitchen. He knew that almost every room in the house had a small nightlight turned on because the woman that lived there hated complete darkness. The man starts up the stairs, skipping the one that creaked under too much weight, and went into the first door to the right; her room.

Lying on the bed is a woman with light blonde hair and tanned skin; almost too tan for it to be natural this time of year in Oklahoma. Chuckling softly, he sits next to her on the twin-sized bed and pulled the blanket aside; eagerly taking in her fit form. She was almost an exact replica of Vivian—just like all the others had been—and he would take delight in this. He places one hand on her shoulder to wake her up and, when her dark green eyes pop open, he shows her the glove on his hands; an exact replica of Freddy Krueger's. "Shh, no need to wake the neighbors," he whispers with a grin.

He knows she recognizes him, they all have, and that was the best part of it; the part that reminds him the most of that night all those years ago. Vivian hadn't expected it either and that had turned out perfectly. The woman on the bed, Sonya, whimpers as runs the knives gently over her skin just barely hard enough to make the skin redden but not enough to make it bleed. She was wearing a thin nightgown, and he quickly cut it off to see the rest of her body, spotting an oval-shaped birthmark on her right hip. "Please," she whispers around a sob," please, I can give you money, just—"

"I said quiet," he snarls, delivering a hard backhanded slap that made her snap to the right. He raises his gloved hand and brings it down fast, feeling the blades cut through skin and muscles as he drags them down from one side to the other with a delighted light in his eyes. "So disobedient; I wonder if the next one will be the same way." His thoughts turn to the new girl in town, the one that looks exactly like Vivian; he had seen her a couple of times around town, talked to her for a little bit before the jealous man she was with came and stole her away. He would get her back, though, Elizabeth Mayson was meant to be his.

* * *

"Liza," Dean says, shaking my shoulder a little bit," c'mon, cops just got called to another murder." I pull the covers over my head and curl into a ball with a groan. Too damn early to investigate a murder! "Elizabeth, I'm giving you your last warning." I continue ignoring him until he reaches under the blankets, grabs my ankles, and pulls me out of bed and onto the floor.

 

"Oh, you son of a bitch," I yell, kicking out at him and missing when he jumps away with a chuckle. "Why can't people get murdered around nine so I can sleep in?" Sam chuckles, helping me up off the dirty, pink, floor and handing me a large bottle of Sprite before I could open my mouth to ask about it. "Damn and I didn't even have to sleep with you to get you to do stuff." Dean chokes on his coffee, spewing the hot liquid all over himself and the table that held Sam's laptop; his eyes huge as they usually are when he's unprepared for something to happen.

"Choke somewhere else, man, I just got that computer," Sam frowns, picking up his precious computer and sitting on his bed. "Might wanna go get dressed, Liza." Taking a large gulp of my pop, I pick up my bag and head towards the bathroom, shutting the door behind me. I choose a white, short sleeve, button-up shirt and leave the last two buttons undone; a high-waisted navy skirt that stopped a little above my knees with a white belt; black boots that stopped mid-calf, and a silver ring with Elvish designs that Uncle Bobby had bought me last Christmas. Satisfied with my outfit, I quickly brush my teeth and wash my place before putting on my glasses and pulling my hair back into a loose ponytail.

I walk out of the bathroom with a yawn, shooting a brief glare at Dean as I plop down in Sam's lap and lay my head on his shoulder. "After the crime scene, can I take a nap," I mumble, closing my eyes when I feel Sammy hugging me.  _He's such a big 'ol teddy bear sometimes_.

"Sure, but first we have to actually make it to the crime scene." The three of us stand and head out to the Impala, fake I.D. badges already in the car and waiting to be used again. "Hey, you think that cop from yesterday will be there?"

"Hopefully," I smirk," I didn't get enough time with him yesterday." Dean snorts again, shaking his head as he gets behind the wheel and I relax in the back, quickly wrapping my TARDIS throw blanket around my shoulders in an attempt to block out the cold.

"Please, the guy looked like freakin' Moldy Shorts off of that dumb movie you nerds like," the oldest Winchester points out.

"His name's Voldemort and if Harry Potter's dumb then those westerns you adore so much are completely retarded." You could tell my comment almost caused Dean a shock-induced heart attack when he slammed on his brakes in the middle of the highway and risked having his baby rear-ended. "Jesus, Dean, a little warning next time would be nice!" He flounders a few seconds, too upset to speak until Sam smacks the back of his head.

"Dude, you drive or I will." Dean's head snaps to face his brother, green eyes huge and mouth opening and closing a few times before he turns again and faces the right way, finally driving, but staying silent. I roll my eyes at his display, taking another drink of Sprite. It was going to be a long day and I knew that we would have to make a beer run before the night was over if we wanted to have the tiniest bit of relief. _Now I know why pirates were constantly drunk_. "Okay, so the latest victim is Sonya Wagner; twenty-three, blonde, around 5"2, and one hundred and thirty-three pounds."

"You got all that from a call that went out over the police scanner?"

"Uh, no, I got all that by calling in advance to tell the cops that agents Gamgee, Angus, and Young would be stopping by to assist if they could." Hmm, maybe we should do that more often and skip some of the awkward crap.

* * *

I was wrong earlier—calling ahead seems to make everything more awkward than usual. We met a cop outside that was in charge of keeping pedestrians back and he took one look at all of us, rolled his eyes, and raised the tape without so much as a nod of acknowledgment. Yeah, 'cause that's always a good sign that we'll fit right in. "Maybe you shouldn't call ahead," Dean hisses at Sam with a frown. I nod in agreement, lips pursed as I look around the slightly crowded home. The house was fairly large, but not overly so; the type of house you'd find in an old movie with a white picket fence surrounding it and two kids with a dog playing outside. "Let me guess," states a familiar voice," agents Angus, Gamgee, and Young." I turn sideways and find Alexander smiling at the three of us.

"Hmm, however could you guess, officer," I question with a teasing smile that he returns.

"Ya know that's always been one of my better talents—guessing people's names. It's like I've been told them before." I laugh, walking over to him with Sam and Dean behind me. "So, why are the Feds interested in a run of the mill murder case, anyway?"

"Possible serial killer," Dean informs him, placing a hand on my shoulder. I shrug him off, giving him a look that spoke volumes; he clears his throat uncomfortably before continuing what he was saying," The body still upstairs?" Alexander nods, gesturing for us to follow him up the stairs and to the first bedroom on the right. Inside was a mess, blood soaked the bed and sheets; some splatter on the wall like the killer had tried to paint with it. I walk over to the body to get a closer look and see a disturbing resemblance that she shares with me.

I look at Dean with wide eyes, biting nervously on my bottom lip. I hadn't seen pictures of the other victims and I had a feeling that I didn't really want to. "Yeah, that's not creepy at all," I mumble under my breath, shuddering as I look again at the latest victim. What I assumed was her nightgown is nothing but shredded cloth and her face was frozen in a look of pure terror and fear. Whoever did this has a sick mind and needs to be buried alive. "Have you talked to the neighbors?"

"Yes, ma'am, the lady next door says she saw what appeared to be a young man leaving the scene around the time Sonya was murdered, but assumed that it was just a one night stand type of thing 'til she came to pick Sonya up this morning." I nod, feeling sad that someone so young had to die bloody like this. "You okay, you look a little pale."

"I'm fine; not my first dead body. I just … I'll just have to find a way to get my mind off of it tonight."

"How about this," Alexander suggests," I'll take you out to dinner and we'll talk about whatever you want to talk about as long as it isn't anything to do with death or our jobs."

"Alright, sounds like a plan." Beats staying in a motel room with Dean giving me a hard time about sitting out this case. "Pick me up around seven." With that, I leave the room and go back downstairs to talk to the next door lady myself.

**_Later That Night…_ **

I pull on my heels, the light blue lace catching slightly on my ring. "This is crap," Dean scowls," you shouldn't be going out without one of us tailing you. I mean, you saw that body, she looked exactly like you!"

"Sammy, would you zip me up," I ask, planning on ignoring Dean. The taller Winchester shrugs, walking over to me a zipping the back of my dress; it was a short dress, stopping a few inches before me knees, with lace along the scooped neck of it. Hell, the wasn't really a neck, it stopped low on my shoulders and both boys had to do a double take when I came out of the bathroom where I had changed. "Okay, I should be back around nine and I have my pistol in my purse in case I need it; stop worrying." Dean rolls his eyes, flopping back on the bed.

"This is freakin' insane." I shake my head, opening the door when I notice Alexander walking towards it.

"Hey," he smiles, blue eyes widening when he sees what I'm wearing. "Um … you l-look …." He clears his throat, giving me a toothy grin.

"Alright, Romeo, let's go before you break something trying to come up with a description," I laugh, leading him away from the motel and to his Mustang. He holds the passenger's side door open for me until I'm situated inside, then closes it and runs to the driver's side.  _Well, ain't he a gentleman_ , I think with a soft laugh.

* * *

Dean glowers at the happy couple, watching through binoculars as Alexander lets Liza sample something off his plate. He grumbles under his breath when Liza gives the cop a genuine smile usually reserved for the Winchesters or family. "Dude, when are you gonna admit you're jealous?" He glares at his younger brother for a moment before going back to glaring at the couple across the street.

"I ain't jealous, I'm worried." Sam scoffs at that, going back to reading his book, not having the slightest interest in what his friend and the cop were doing at that moment. "Why the hell would she dress like that when she knows for a fact that there's some weirdo out there murdering women that look like her?"

"Maybe she thinks she can stab him in the eye with one of those heels," Sam suggests without looking up, pursing his lips when  _another_  character in his book dies. He was beginning to think that no one was safe in  _A Game of Thrones_. Sighing, he keeps reading, until Ned is accused of treachery, then he throws the book on the dash with a huff. Ned was his favorite character and he wasn't sure whether or not he really wanted to continue reading or not just in case that Joffrey dick kills him. "Anyway, I'm sure she'll be fine considering she has a cop with her." Just then, Elizabeth and alexander come out of the restaurant, hand in hand, and start towards his car.

Dean starts up the Impala and waiting five minutes before following the dark blue Mustang back to the motel. "About time, it's almost ten," Dean grumbles. His fists clench the steering wheel tightly when he sees Elizabeth kissing the cop—not an innocent peck on the lips, either—before the pair breaks apart and Liza hurriedly unlocks the spare room Bobby had booked, leading Alexander inside by his tie with a coy smile. "That's—she's—I—"Dean stutters, face a light shade of red.

"I'm gonna go take a shower; you can stay out here and watch if you want." Dean's eyes grow wide, and he bangs his head a few times on the steering wheel before just letting it stay there _. I am not jealous_ , he thinks, trying to convince himself of that fact,  _I'm just trying to protect her_.


	17. 17

**Vivian**

I struggle against the ropes binding my hands behind my back; wrists already raw after two hours of doing it. "Stop, Vivian," Flynn demands, delivering a sharp kick to my leg," I don't like my property severely damaged." I glare at him, mumbling a few choice words into the gag as I slump back in the wagon I was riding in. "There's a good girl." Flynn gives me a predatory grin, the tips of his fingers gently rubbing up and down the side of my neck. "Don't be like that, Viv; after all, I  _love_ you." He says love in a mocking tone, laughing when I give him a glare.

"Burn in hell," I snarl, moving further away from him; at least, I tried to say that but the gag muffles it. Flynn sneers at me, cutting his gaze over to one of the whores his men had brought along. The one that caught Flynn's interest was a pretty red head with large breasts and a cheeky grin. I look down at my lap with a blush gracing my cheeks, shivering when a strong burst of wind makes me shiver; my thin shift didn't offer much protection from the constantly dropping temperature as winter approaches. One of the men in the wagon notice and covers me an over sized coat—Winchester, I believe. He wasn't a very big man, but had defined muscles that showed he wasn't as weak as he might have others believe; short, dark blonde hair with green eyes that seemed to see everything. He gives me a polite nod which I gladly return.

"Perhaps we should make camp for the night," Winchester suggests, shifting slightly as he moves to get comfortable.

"We have about an hour of daylight left, so why the hell would we stop," Flynn asks, glaring daggers at the other man.

"The lady will freeze to death if we do not." Winchester shrugs, voice calm and disinterested. Flynn scoffs, but signals for the others to stop nonetheless. This Winchester has power in the group, one of the few that Flynn actually listens to and comes to for advice. That could be valuable later on if I needed assistance. The wagon comes to a halt and Flynn jumps out of the wagon, helping the red head out, and orders a couple of his men to set up camp. Winchester shakes his head as he gets out, turning to grab my waist and place me on the ground. "Stay out of the other men's sights; with Flynn gone they may get bold." I nod, wide-eyed at what he was implying. Yes, Winchester was a man to get close to.

* * *

I sigh contentedly when I wake up, stretching my arms above my head. I haven't felt this good in a while and it had been even longer since my last good lay—the night Dean found me, actually. I push aside the covers and stand up, deciding to take a shower before I go meet the guys for breakfast. The sight that welcomes me in the bathroom is a pleasant one, Alexander had only a towel around his waist and was bending over to turn on the shower. "I could get used to a sight like this," I quipp," but I would prefer the towel to be on the floor." He jumps, spinning on his heel to face me. "Sorry, didn't mean to give you a heart attack."

He smiles at me, pulling me closer to him. "Hmm, I could get used to this sight too. How about a quick shower before we both have to rejoin society?" I press against him, wrapping my arms around his neck. "Or maybe not so quick," he murmurs before his soft lips meet mine. Just as I'd pinned him against the wall, a loud banging at my door makes us jump apart. There was only one person dumb enough to do that; Dean fucking Winchester.

"C'mon, Liza, get your ass in gear; me and Sammy are hungry!" With an irritated hiss, I march to the door and fling it wide open, not caring that I had nothing on or that I had a half naked man waiting for me in the bathroom. "damn, maybe I should wake you up more often." Dean's eyes move up and down my body, a grin beginning to grow on his face. I punch his shoulder hard enough to make him flinch back. "What the hell was that for?"

"What do you think, asshole?"

"Is there a problem," Alexander asks, coming up behind me and wrapping his arms around my waist. Dean's eyes narrows slightly as he looks at the cop, shaking his head. "Then, if you don't mind, the lady and I were about to take a shower." He shuts the door in Dean's face with a smile, pinning me against it just seconds afterwards. "Now, where were we?" I smile up at him, pulling away and walking into the bathroom, hips swaying in a way that tends to draw men in like flies. Alexander rushes after me, throwing the towel on the floor as he joins me in the shower. He winces slightly, pulling away out of the water. "A bit cold, isn't it?"

"I thought maybe you could warm me up," I tell him, biting my lower lip as I look up at him through my lashes. He groans, pulling me to him and into a deep, long kiss. Yes, this was certainly going to be a good morning!

**LATER...**

I glare at Dean over my cup of coffee, making the older Winchester shift uncomfortably from foot to foot. "I told you not to mess with her this morning," Sam shrugs when Dean looks at him for help. "Anyway, we've been looking up what causes these kinds of deaths and we haven't found a critter that causes them yet, but we have found similar murders going back until Vivian Mayson; you're ancestor was the start of it all." My head snaps up at that, eyebrows scrunched together in confusion.

"Do what now?"

"Yep, her family was murder about a year before her husband found her in their bed; cut to hell like all our vics."

"I'll be a son of a bitch," I mumble, pulling out my cell phone. "I'll call Uncle Bobby and see if he can dig up anything on what happened to Vivian."


	18. 18

The Tulsa public library smelled like all the other libraries that Sam had spent hours in as a child; old paper and B.O. wafting off of jocks that had just come in from practice to study for some exam that they'd probably fail unless they cheated off the smart kid in class. Piles upon piles of books were stacked on the table in front of him; some about lore, some over the history of Tulsa in general, and even some about crimes that had taken place there dating back to the 1990's. "Are you sure it was smart to leave Liza by herself back at the motel," Sam asks, looking up at Dean over the large book he was forcing himself to read. Dean shrugs with bored look on his face as he goes through records, chewing on a pen cap. "Maybe I should've stayed with her just so we know for sure that nothing would happen." Sam's head was beginning to ache and the words on the page starting to mix together in a black blur.

"She'll be fine; the only people she'd let in her room is us and that stupid cop. Besides, she's got her pistol in case she really needs it and those four inch heels—those things could make any man run for cover." Sam winces, recalling vividly when he'd been on Liza's bad side back in middle school and she'd used her two inch heels to step on his foot. Just thinking about it made his foot begin to hurt all over again.

"Yeah, those heels will do some massive damage." Dean nods, looking down at old articles; ones that dust clings to like a second skin and makes anyone with allergies sneeze their heads off. Liza had decided to stay behind and try and find something helpful on Sam's laptop while she waited for Bobby to call her back. "You got anything yet?"

"Yeah, some old coupons for that burger joint down the street from the motel; too bad they're expired." Of course Dean would be thinking about food. Sam rolls his eyes, setting the book down to take a small break and give his eyes a chance to stop burning. Just then Dean's cell began to ring and the other man leapt for it; grateful for the interruption. "Hey, Bobby…uh-huh…Yeah, reception's a bitch at the motel." Dean nods at something Bobby tells him, his face paling and eyes hardening. "We're leaving now." He snaps the phone shut and shoves it into his pants pocket.

"What is it?"

"The cop's our guy," he calls over his shoulder, sprinting towards the library exit with Sam bringing up the rear. "Bobby found an old picture of Vivian and her family after she was married; the guy she was married to looks exactly like Clarke right down to the dimple in his chin and those creepy eyes. Apparently not long after Vivian's husband found her dead, the townspeople lynched him. They found a Freddy Krueger glove in his home and they put two and two together." The boys climb into the Impala, speeding off back towards the Super 8 where Liza would be.

**Meanwhile, Back at the Motel...**

I close the laptop with a defeated sigh; Sam was right, there was absolutely nothing on the internet that even remotely matched these crimes unless Freddy Krueger was a real guy. Stretching, I get up and walk over to the mini fridge, pulling out a beer and flopping back on the bed to relax for a bit before I had to start looking again. "Elizabeth?" I look up at my name, finding Alexander standing in the doorway and giving me a sweet smile. "I just thought I'd drop by so we could compare facts; you know, see if we can't get any clues on who did this."

"Come on in, I'll get ya a beer." He nods, coming in and shutting the door, sitting on the bed. "You must have a lot of one-night stands," I remark with a smile, handing him the beer. He cocks his head to the side in confusion. "You called me Elizabeth earlier; my name is Lorraine." He chuckles, standing up and turning the bottle around in his hands.

"Oh, sweetie, hasn't anyone told you not to try and fool a pro? I know your name is Elizabeth Mayson, I know that you're attracted to the older Winchester, and I also know that you'' leave this room in a body bag." I never got the chance to react before he raises the bottle and brings it down hard against my head, sending me spiraling into unconsciousness.

* * *

When I wake up I'm lying on the motel bed and I have a splitting headache with Alexander standing over me, drinking the beer I had given him earlier. "Hello again, Sleeping Beauty," he smirks," sorry I had to do that, but it was the only way to get you where I needed you." Head spinning, I sit up and lean against the headboard with a soft groan. "God, you look just like my wife—act like her too."

"You look like a dick," I remark, fighting another groan when he delivers a sharp slap to my face—my head snapping to the side. "Hmm, guess I was right." I smile up at him, a smile I'd seen Dean give a thousand times in the face of killers. 'Course, those killers had all been some kind of monster and this dumbass is supposedly human. "Is this how you got all those other girls; charming them with cheap food, screwing them, and then cutting them open?"

"No, I never even talked to the other women…just watched them." He sets the empty bottle down on the small table by the bed and moves his hands down to his belt, beginning to slowly unbuckle it. "You were different than them, not by much, but different; the others only had Vivian's looks, but you had her looks  _and_ her personality. It was like she'd come back from the dead to torment me all over again. I was her husband and she disrespected me on a daily bases in front of everyone!"

"What's your real name?"

"Flynn Taylor; that whore ancestor of yours was my wife and she thought it smart to have a baby with another man and gloat about it. Of course, she gloat anymore, I made sure of that" He pulls the belt through his pants loops, pulling it tight with a snap. My eyes stray to the bottle and quickly back to his face, but he didn't miss anything and lunged forward onto the bed just as I went backwards and rolled off into the floor. I scramble to the other side on my hands and knees, falling onto my stomach when he rolls off onto my back; the air leaving my lungs in a  _whoosh._ "She was a fighter too," he grunts, wrapping the belt around my throat and beginning to squeeze, cutting off what little air I had left. I bring an elbow up, nailing him in the stomach a couple of times and forcing him to loosen his grip so that I can get my breath back and move forward a few feet before he tightens his grip on the belt and begins to strangle me again.

The edges of my vision were beginning to go black as my struggles were starting to grow sluggish. In a last ditch effort, I grab the edge of the comforter and yank it sideways towards me; the glass bottle gets knocked off the table and crashes to the ground, shattering on impact. I grab one of the larger pieces and swing my arm behind me, the glass entering Flynn's side and sending the man to the ground, chocking on his blood and wriggling a little until he finally goes still. At that moment, Dean and Sam barge into the room with their pistols out and ready to shoot; looking shocked when they see Flynn and me on the ground.

"Next time," I rasp," I'll go to the library and y'all can be attacked." I lay my head down on the carpet, taking deep breaths and letting the boys clean up the mess. After five minutes, bobby had called back and informed us that Flynn actually was Alexander Clarke; a schizophrenic obsessed with the pasts of others, my ancestor being one of his favorites.

_The jig is up, the noose is out/They finally found me/The renegade who had it made/Retrieved for a bounty/Never more to go astray/The judge will have revenge today/On the wanted man_


	19. BUGS

I fiddle with my car keys as the doctor examines Lilly, bored out of my mind and wondering how the hell I got roped into this. The doctor sits down on her chair with a stumped, slightly annoyed look. "I don't know," she sighs," we've had cat scans done; we've tried laxatives, X-rays, ultra sounds, and blood work. I honestly don't think there's really anything wrong with your niece." My keys bite into my hand as I clench it in frustration. "It might just be psychological; jealousy from all the other children she's around." Now I know why Tasha made me come—I was mean when it comes to my baby.

"I had the exact same diagnosis when I was a senior, white blood cells were normal; it must be in my head right?" The doctor shifts slightly in her seat, looking a little scared. "Wrong, bitch, I had appendicitis and it was ready to burst when they found it during an exploratory surgery. You either find my niece a doctor with half a brain or you'll be seeing a lot more of me around here." My voice had dropped to a deadly whisper, Lilly unable to understand me but the doctor hearing me just fine. "I will poke and prod you until you're nothing but an empty shell of the woman you used to be until that baby is better, got it?" She nods and I pick Lilly up and carry her out of the room, ignoring the nurse at the front desk demanding payment.

Outside was a familiar black Impala, and sitting on the hood are two familiar men. "Sammy," Lilly shouts, running as best as she could despite the pain, until Sam scooped her up in his arms. Dean smirks at me, walking over and pulling me into a hug. "Can I braid your hair?!" I can't help but snort at the helpless look on Sam's face as he nods his consent to Lilly.

"Any news," Dean asks, glancing over at Lilly before looking back to me for an answer.

"No, but I'm pretty sure I might have the cops called on me for a threat I may or may not have made to that quack in there." Chuckling, Dean wraps his arm around my shoulders and leads me to the Impala. "Drive me to Tanya's place so I can drop off squirt, then we're going to a bar."

* * *

I sit next to Sam on the hood of the Impala, flipping through a magazine I'd stolen from the Dollar Store a block away while Sammy read the newspaper for any weirdness we might need to check out. It was already dark and Dean was hustling a game of pool inside the bar—not to mention hitting on the bar tender, Carly or Candy…whatever the hell her name is; something that begins with a C. The lights outside the bar were just enough to be able to see Dean by as he comes outside, laughing and holding a wad of cash in one hand and a bottle of beer in the other. "You know, we could get day jobs once in a while," Sam points out, looking at his brother. I snort, shaking my head in the negative.

"Hunting's our day job and the pay is crap," Dean responds, handing me the bottle. I raise an eyebrow at him. "Carla the bar tender thought it might be bribe enough to get you back inside."

"Really and why would she want that," I ask, taking a long swig and scrunching my nose at the taste. It must be one of the cheaper ones that not even Dean would consume and that boy basically drank whatever you put in front of him.

"Let's just say she's not my type and move on."

"Well, she's gonna need a better taste in alcohol before I fuck her." Dean takes the beer from me and throws it in the trash, sending me a wink. "That look isn't gonna get you a threesome, buddy; last time I was drunk so it didn't count."

Dean snickers, pointing at my shoulder and saying," Got somethin' on your shoulder, Liza." I look at the shoulder he's pointing at, not expecting to find anything let alone the giant ass spider sitting there and staring at me with those soulless eyes. I let out a loud scream, flinging the spider off of me and falling off the hood of the car in the process. That little stunt has Sam and Dean laughing their asses off and me scowling at the two men while trying to pick myself up off the ground with what little dignity I have left. At my sour look, Dean's laughter dries up and he clears his throat. "We got a new gig or am I gonna have to sleep in the motel bathtub tonight?"

"Oasis Plains, Oklahoma," I answer," Zane called a few minutes ago and said he'd like some help. It's not far from here." His brows scrunch together, looking confused as he no doubt tried to remember who the hell Zane is. "Dustin Burwash was said to have died from Creutzfeldt-Jakob."

"Huh?"

"Human mad cow disease," Sam supplies, taking over.

"Mad cow? Wasn't that on Oprah?"

"You watch Oprah," Sam and I ask at the same time, our brows raised in surprise. Dean pauses as if realizing what he just says, licking his lips nervously before continuing to talk, trying to distract us.

"So this guy eats a bad burger, why is it our kind of thing?"

"Mad Cow disease causes massive brain degeneration, it takes months, even years for the damage to appear, but this guy, Dustin, sounds like his brain disintegrated in about an hour, maybe less." If that doesn't cause suspicion, then I have no clue what will. "Now, it could be a disease, or it could be something much nastier and if we don't go down there to help Zane figure out what it is, Liza will just go one without us." I nod with a smile, leaning against the Impala with my arms crossed.

"All right," Dean shrugs," Oklahoma." We all load back up in the car, music blaring through the speakers as we settle into the familiar rhythm—Sammy looking through John's journal to try and get a heads up on what we could be dealing with, Dean driving, and me curled up in the backseat with a little flashlight and a book. "Hey, maybe this time we won't run into a crazy dude that wants Liza dead." That little quip has me smacking the back of Dean's head with my book.

That'll teach him to be a smartass.

 


	20. 20

_My pulse quickens when I hear the heavy footfalls coming closer and closer to my hiding spot, a happy whistling belonging to_   ** _him_** _keeping me on edge constantly. "You can't hide from me forever, darlin'." I wince, taking a step back only to find that the closet I had been hiding in is now a forest; a twig snapping underfoot getting his attention. "Peek-a-boo," he giggles," I found you." I gasp, tripping over my own feet as I try to get away from him, falling to the ground hard enough to knock the air out of my lungs. He walks over to me at a languid pace, turning me onto my back and straddling my waist. "You should know that a little stab wound isn't going to stop someone like me."_

_"N-no," I stutter, voice barely more than a whisper," you're dead, I killed you!" He gives me a mocking grin, one hand holding me down by my throat and the other one wandering up my sides to my breast. Fear coils in my stomach and I can feel bile rising as he leans down to whisper in my ear..._

"Liza!" I jerk awake at the shout, breathing quickly ad half-expecting to find Clarke nearby. "You okay, you look like you just saw a ghost?" I give Dean a tight smile, sitting up and kicking the throw blanket into the floorboard. Ghosts I can handle, nightmares are a different matter entirely. Understanding dawns on his face, but he doesn't say anything, just getting out and following Sam while I try and compose myself. What the hell was that all about? I've never had nightmares about killing a monster before. Shivering in disgust, I quickly get out of the Impala and jog over to where the boys are talking with an employee from the Oklahoma Gas and Power Company. "So do you think it could be this whole Mad Cow thing?" The man they're talking to is of average height with dark hair and a beard. He's got a receding hairline, so his hair is brushed back and stops at his shoulders. Not very professional, but stuff like that isn't enforced too regularly in small towns.

"I don't know," the man shrugs. "That's what the doctors are saying."

"D-did Uncle Dusty act weird before that though," Zane asks, his blue eyes filling with fake tears. He's the real actor in this group of misfits, having been involved in theater and drama schools since he was old enough to remember lines. Upon noticing me, Zane pulls me into a tight hug and lets his tears fall. "Hear that, Angelica, Uncle D is gone forever!" I hug him back awkwardly, keeping my back turned to the power guy so that he could see Zane's performance better.

"If it wasn't some disease, what the hell was it?"

"That's a good question," Dean agrees, his hands stuffed in his jeans pockets.

"Could you tell us where this happened," Sam asks. "Why we get the directions, why don't you take our poor cousin to his car." I nod, supporting Zane until the power guy's attention was elsewhere and then pushing him playfully away from me.

"Am I good," Zane asks, the tears stopped," or am I good?" He grins, wiping the tears off his face with his sleeve. "God, my dear old daddy would be so proud of me." I snort at that, shaking my head with a shit-eating grin on my face.

"You're good enough to have a middle-aged guy who probably watches too much TV fooled," I admit with a laugh, walking over to Zane's Ferrari and climbing in on the passenger's side. He'd have a shit fit if anyone even thought about driving his baby; worse than Dean on some levels and everyone knows how protective of the Impala Dean is. "So, how long have you been in town?"

"A few weeks, I was actually thinking of buying the house Dustin died in front of, but death kind of makes houses depressing." He shrugs, fastening his seat belt and starting the car. "What do you think, a house out in the middle of nowhere, with no neighbors until all the houses are finished, and a huge Jacuzzi tub that has our names etched into the marble—practically begging us to use it for our own devious needs?" I raise an eyebrow at his theatrics, buckling my seat belt.

"Wouldn't your latest girlfriend be upset about you cheating on her?"

"Well, that depends on the girlfriend, I guess." He taps the steering wheel as he thinks over my question. "I have one in Louisiana that loves to share, but the one I got back in Oklahoma would castrate me if she finds out about you and would outright kill me if she finds out about the one in Louisiana."

"Why can't you just be normal and have one girlfriend like everybody else?"

"Where's the fun in that? You didn't seem to mind when I was dating you and that crazy chick in Utah."

"That's because I knew the crazy Utah lady was about to dump your ass and buy ten cats." He gives me a blithe smile, as if having a crazy cat lady for an ex wasn't weird in the slightest. "However, I've learned my lesson, there's no such thing as dating with you—the only thing that comes out of it is decent sex and homemade pizza that is, to be perfectly honest, better than the sex."

"How do you think I lure women into my web of seduction? The pizza is enough to give you an orgasm in itself!" Our conversation is interrupted by Sammy leaning in my window. "What's up, Sammy?"

"One," Sam says, pointing a finger in Zane's direction," don't call me Sammy—only Liza is allowed and that's because there are worse names out there that she'll call me. Two, Dean's in a pissy mood, so y'all might want to keep the sex-speak down to a low whisper when you're around him. And three, follow us to the place so Dean can feel useful."

"You got it, Sam."

* * *

The house we pull up in front of is still in the process of being built, some police tape wrapped around a tree in the front yard and a couple of small poles to mark off where Dustin was found in a hole large enough to fit a full grown man. "So, what do you think," Dean asks as all of us walk over to the scene. Workers continue with their jobs, occasionally sparing us a passing glance, but not stopping to ask any questions.

"If what that Travis guy says is right, then it happened pretty damn fast," Sammy answers. All of us duck under the tape, looking down into the dark hole.

"What are we thinking," I ask, reaching out to hold onto Dean's arm so I didn't fall in on accident," a creepy critter got the munchies and Dustin was nearby? What kind of sense does that make, though, the only critters I can think of that eat people are Ghouls and fucked up humans, but there ain't room for more than one person down there."

"There wasn't an entry wound," Sam says," it chewed inside his head." Ouch. Dean shies a flashlight down into the hole before stepping back under the police tape to put some distance between him and the guy-eating hole of doom.

"What should we do, flip a coin or rock, paper, scissors," he asks, looking determined.

"You're gonna send one of us down into a hole when we don't know what could happen," Zane asks for confirmation. "Are you some new kind of stupid that I'm just now discovering?!"

"Don't worry, Daniels, I'll go if the dark scares you." Dena gives Zane a cheeky smile, picking up a coiled up watering house and walking back over to us.

"Sorry if I don't want my brain to be served up for supper—"

"Heads," I call out to shut him up. Dean chuckles, digging a quarter out of his pocket only to have it snatched by Sammy.

"I'm going down and if I fall on my head, you're all on drool duty," Sam states, tying some of the house around his waist. Zane pushes me back a little, moving to help Dean lower Sam into the hole. "Shine some extra light down here, Liza!" I pull a little flashlight out of my jacket pocket, shining it down into the hole so Sammy can see better. Roots stick out of the sides of the hole from nearby plants and the tree, poking Sam every now and again.

"Anything interesting?"

"Not that I can see so far." They lower him a little farther until Sam holds up a hand to signal them to stop. "Drop the light down." I let the flashlight fall into Sam's hands, watching intently as Sam kneels in the dirt to look around in the narrow hole, the light blocked out sometimes because of how he was positioned. "All right, lift me back up. I think I got us something to look at."

 


	21. 21

"You keep doing that and Bobby's gonna smack you bald, girl," Zane laughs, making me stop chewing on the ear piece of my glasses and look up at him. "Last time you ruined your glasses a whole year before you were scheduled to get a new pair, remember?" Unfortunately I do remember; I was grounded until I had enough money saved up to buy a new pair and then an extra two weeks before Uncle Bobby finally let up. Frowning, I slide the glasses back on my face, the purple standing out against my blonde hair.

Zane parks behind the Impala, the house we stopped in front of having a sign in the front yard that told me all I needed to know about why Dean wanted to stop. "Leave it to Dean to find free barbeque in the middle of a housing development that's still being worked on," I snort, getting out of the car and walking over to the guys.

"Growing up in a place like this would freak me out," I hear Dean say.

"Why," Sam asks.

"The manicured lawns, the 'how was your day, honey'—I'd blow my brains out." I shake my head, waiting for Zane to catch up with me before continuing to the cookie-cutter house where the barbeque was being held at.

"You feelin' okay," Zane asks, looping his arm through mine while we walk. "You're looking a little washed out today."

"It's the weather, rain always messes with me." Well, it wasn't a complete lie—rain  _does_ put me on edge. The thunder always scared me when I was little and now every time it looks like it might rain, I have the urge to go curl up on the couch with Uncle Bobby and watch a movie or read until the storm dies down.

The man that answers the door is middle-aged with short graying hair and a practiced smile. "Welcome," he smiles.

"Is this the barbeque," Dean asks.

"Yeah, not the best weather, but." He shrugs as if to say  _what can ya do_  before holding out a hand for the guys to shake. "I'm Larry Pike, the developer here, and you are?"

"Dean. This is Sam."

"Sam, Dean, good to meet you. So, you two are interested in Oasis Plains?"

"Yes, sir."

"Let me just say that we accept homeowners of race, religion, color, or…Sexual orientation." I can't hold back my laugh at that, having to lean on Zane to stay standing. The fact that the guy's first thought is that Dean and Sam is a couple is the best thing to happen in a while. "Ah, Mister Daniels, good to see you again. This must be the girlfriend you told me about."

"Larry," Zane grins, shaking the other man's hand. Dean clears his throat, pulling me to stand next to him.

"Sam is my brother," he clears up. "This is Elizabeth, my girlfriend." Larry nods, looking unconvinced but stepping aside to let us in all the same.

"Well, come on in, the party's in the backyard." The backyard is fairly crowded, Zane nodding to some of the people and sending one of the men a suggestive wink. Really, how does he focus on so many people without pulling his hair out? I'm lucky to keep a steady boyfriend for three months, let alone two girlfriends and a possible boyfriend for going on a year! I notice that several of the women attending are dressed similarly in a gray skirt, white blouse, and black blazer—their hair done up I loose buns and sensible yet dressy shoes on their feet.

What a boring uniform. "You said you were the developer," Sam asks Larry.

"Eighteen months ago, I was walking this valley with my survey team," Larry nods, slipping into storytelling mode. "There was nothing here but scrub brush and squirrels, and you know what? We built such a nice place to live that I actually bought into myself. This is our house. We're the first family in Oasis Plains." He leads the way to a blonde woman dressed in light pink. "This is my wife, Joanie."

"Nice to see you again," Zane smirks, making the woman smirk. I elbow him sharply in the ribs with a polite smile, shaking the woman's hand.

"This is Sam, Dean, and Elizabeth. Of course, you and Zane already know each other." Zane lets out a small whine, clutching his side with none of his usual grace. "Tell them how much you love the place, Honey," he tells her jokingly. "And lie if you have to because I need to sell some houses." It's obvious that Joanie is used to his bad humor, the blonde nodding with a plastic smile in place. I wonder if he's the type to get sucked into his work and leave his wife to fend for herself. Judging by the way she looks at Zane, I'd lean towards yes. "Boys, Elizabeth, if you'll excuse me."

He takes his leave, moving to rub elbows with the other guests. "Don't let his salesman routine scare you," she says," this really is a great place to live." A brunette in uniform approaches us next with a big grin on her face.

"Hi, I'm Linda Boom, head of sales," she introduces herself. She's pretty and she knows it too, though she should probably go for a paler shade of makeup unless she wants to look like she's trying too hard.

"And Linda was second to move in. She's a very noisy neighbor, though." Joanie walks off, probably to get a drink. Hmm, I wonder if she and Linda ever….Nah, that'd be too cliché for even my imagination. Linda chuckles, the laugh sounding fake as she looks after the other woman. So maybe they hate each other?

"She's kidding, of course. Zane, is this your girlfriend?" Zane gives her a shit-eating grin, wrapping an arm around my waist and pulling me against him. Linda takes that as a yes and moves her gaze to Sam and Dean; the older Winchester giving Zane a glare. "I take it you two are interested in becoming homeowners."

"Well," Dean shrugs, looking at his brother nervously. We could all see where this might be headed and the fact that it goes straight there makes it even harder to hold in a laugh.

"Well, let me just say that we accept homeowners of any race, religion, color, or….Sexual orientation." I bite my bottom lip, hiding my face in Zane's chest as I try to keep it together. Dean's response just makes it even harder.

"Hmm, right; I'm gonna go talk to Larry. Okay, honey?" He smacks Sam's butt as he goes, Sam looking like he might kill his brother when he gets the chance. Zane leads me off to a quieter part of the backyard where we can laugh without getting too many weird  _what drugs are you on_ looks.

"That's been the highlight of my week," I giggle, clutching my middle.

"Oh, mine too," Zane agrees, leaning against the privacy fence with a sigh. "Is that the first time that's happened to them?"

"Yeah, as far as I know." He laughs again, gasping for breath once he finishes. "So, which girlfriend did you tell them about anyway? Obviously you talked about her a lot since they all seemed to know about her."

"Eh, I don't remember." He looks around us at all the people, eyes narrowed and head tilted to the side. "Do you think we'd be like them if we weren't raised the way we were?" I shrug, observing the happy couples with a bit of jealousy. What would it be like to live some happy apple pie life instead of worrying about the monster under the bed? "Come on, the Hardy Boys are back together." I roll my eyes, walking over to the guys to see what Dean had found out while talking to Larry.

"Looks like Zane isn't a complete moron," Dean informs us. "Dustin Burwash wasn't the first strange death around here."

"I'll take a written apology, no less than three pages, single-spaced." I elbow him again, nodding at Dean to continue talking.

"About a year ago, before they broke ground, one of Larry's surveyors dropped dead while on the job. Get this—severe allergic reaction to bee stings."

"More bugs," Sam supplies. I scrunch up my nose in disgust, looking around for any sign that a killer bug would jump out and kill me. Why did this have to be a creepy crawly case?

* * *

Later that night finds us occupying Zane's house, deciding to stay there until the case is wrapped up so we don't have to worry about wasting gas driving back into town for a motel. I lay back on my throw blanket, book propped up on my knees and my Scooby-Doo pillow keeping my head at a comfortable angle to read. "Does everybody die in these books," Sam asks from his spot across from me.

One of my Game of Thrones books is closed beside him, a pathetic look on his face that you only see from severe cases of trauma by paperback. "No one is safe in that series," I shrug, shutting my book and setting it aside as Zane emerges from the bathroom. His dark hair is damp ad sticks to her head, a fluffy white towel around his neck and a pair of sweats hanging low on his hips. Lucky for us, he'd already began moving his stuff in, the master bedroom and bath completely furnished and internet established. "You look satisfied."

"That shower is worth every penny, I think I'll have one installed in my Connecticut house too," he smiles, sitting on the floor beside me. "You should try it, you'll feel like God was giving you the best massage of your life."

"I don't think I've ever had a massage."

"Come with me to the bedroom and I'll show you all the little wonders my hands are capable of."

"Mm, I'm gonna have to pass." Yawning, I snuggle my face against my pillow and soon find myself strolling along in dream land.

 


	22. 22

I let out a moan as Dean massages some soap into the sore muscles of my shoulders, pressing my forehead against the warm tiles that make up the shower wall. "This is amazing." My eyes were practically rolling back in my head as he works a particularly stubborn knot, his skilled fingers and the warm spray of water keeping me in a state of heightened bliss.

We're interrupted when someone begins banging on the bathroom door, shouting something that I can't hear over the sound of the water. "What," Dean shouts back, sticking his head out of the shower to hear better. I groan again, glaring at the door and cursing whoever it was taking Dean's attention away.

"Dean, a police call came in on the scanner," the person yells. I think it is Sammy, but I can't be entirely certain.

"Hold on!" Dean sighs, kissing just below my ear before getting out. "If we don't get out you're your buddy will drag us out."

"Someone was found dead three blocks from here, come on." With a frown, I turn off the water and wrap a towel around my body to cover me, Dean doing the same before sticking his head out the door to say something to Sammy, the steam fogging up the mirror and making it impossible to see my reflection. Dean shuts the door again, turning to face me with a grin.

"Looks like we got a fresh one."

"Goody," I grin, forcing a brush through my hair before dressing for the day in a pair of jeans, a black tank top, and a red and black plaid shirt over that. "Why can't we catch a case where the people die at opportune moments instead of when we're in the shower or trying to sleep in?"

"Because the universe hates us, Liza." I give his ass a slap before I leave him, trading the bathroom for the kitchen where my boots were waiting for me. As I was tugging them on, Zane walks in and I can tell he's just woke up since his hair is a mess. He grunts a good morning at me, a cup of coffee in hand as he walks through the door that connects the house to the garage. "He not a morning person?"

"He's the polar opposite of a morning person." Dean helps me up and leads the way to the Impala.

"Who're you ridin' with today?"

"I go with y'all, the backseat is calling my name." Dean's grin disappears when he notices Zane in the backseat of the Impala too, the other man's dark hair now brushed and his eyes a little more clear than they were before. "I guess he didn't want to waste gas." I shrug, getting in the backseat and leaning my back against the door with my feet in Zane's lap. "Morning, handsome."

"No conversation yet," Zane grumbles, closing his eyes and taking another drink of coffee. Dean and Sam get in the front seat, Sam joining us once he closes the garage door after we back out. About halfway to the crime scene, Zane reopens his eyes again and begins to look around. "Nice car." Dean hums a response, keeping his eyes on the road as a light drizzle continues to come down. I grab my book, picking up where I left off last night until Zane's hand covers the page.

"I will not hesitate to break every bone in your hand," I state nonchalantly, even giving him a sweet smile. Zane gives a dramatic sigh, taking the book from me—taking care to mark my place before he tosses it in the back window. "Dude!" I smack his shoulder playfully, reaching for my book again only to have Dean pull up next to a curb and stop. We get out, Zane and I sharing an umbrella while Sam and Dean have their own. We walk over to where Larry is standing a few feet away talking on the phone.

"Hello, you're back early," he says, hanging up and giving us a strained smile.

"Yeah," Dean nods," we wanted to take another look at the neighborhood." I look over his shoulder as a covered body is loaded into the back of the medical examiner's car. "What's going on?"

"You guys, uh, met Linda Bloom at the barbeque yesterday?"

"The realtor," Sam checks.

"Well, she passed away last night." Everyone in my group fake surprise, but the sadness we have is real. None of us like to see innocent people being killed.

"What happened," I ask, moving closer to Zane as the cold gets to me. I should have grabbed my jacket out of the car, but I didn't even think about it at the time.

"I'm still trying to find out. I identified the body for the police." He looks over his shoulder at the police gathered in the doorway of Linda's home, one of the men waving Larry over. "I-I'm sorry, this isn't a good time."

"It's okay," Sam assures him.

"Excuse me."

"You know what we have to do, right," Dean asks, looking at the rest of us as soon as Larry was out of hearing range.

"Break in," I nod," see if we need the exterminator." Dean leads the way to the back of the house where we were able to climb a fence and in through Linda's window. Lucky for us, not only were there no police around, but it was the room we needed to be in. Black tape outlines where Linda's body was found, a few blood splotches soaked into the carpet. Zane is the last one inside and slides the window shut to avoid suspicion.

"This looks like the right place." I peak through the closest doorway, finding the bathroom and the cause of the blood. The glass shower door is shattered as though Linda had dived head first through it in her haste to get away from something. I step inside carefully, avoiding the trail of blood and glass as I take a look around. Zane covers my mouth quickly when I turn again and I realize why when I look down.

"Oh shit." My knees buckles and I fall back against Zane's hard chest, my eyes never leaving the dead spiders lying on the floor a few feet away from me. Why is it always spiders? Just  _once_  can we have a case where it's butterflies or ladybugs? God, I understand Ron Weasley's frustration now.

"You think spider boy caused this?" Who the hell are they talking about?

"Matt," Sam corrects snappishly. Well, whoever it is, is obviously a tender subject. "Maybe." Sam looks over at Zane and I, holding his hand out for me to take and guiding me away from the spiders into the bedroom again. "You okay, Liza?"

"Fan-fucking-tastic," I respond sarcastically. I take a few deep breathes, steadying myself and pushing the spiders out of my thoughts as I head back over to the window. "You nerds have fun, I'll be in the car if you need me."

* * *

"Isn't his house that way," Dean asks as we watch a teen get off the school bus and start walking towards the woods. At Sam's confirmation, Dean scrunches up his brows in what I like to refer to as his thinking face. "So where's he goin'?" The four of us get out of the Impala, following Matt into the thick woods and down a trail. Zane stays close to me as we walk, making sure to steady me on the occasions that I stumble or trip. When we finally catch up with Matt, we find him holding a clear container in one hand with a Praying Mantis sitting on top of his other one.

"Hey, Matt," Sam greets, gaining us the teen's attention. "Remember me?"

"What are you doing out here," Matt asks nervously.

"We're here to talk to you," Dean explains.

"You're not here to buy a house, are you?"

"In my defense," Zane states, raising his hand slightly," I bought the house a guy died in front of." I slap his chest hard enough to get the 'shut up' point across without having to say anything. "Sorry."

"W-wait, you're not serial killers?!"

"Not the last time I checked, no," I assure him. "More like Ghostbusters."

"So, Matt," Dean continues," you sure know a lot about insects." At Matt's 'so what' expression I begin to get the feeling that this isn't the droid we're looking for. "You know what happened to Linda the Realtor?"

"I know she died this morning," he nods with a sad light entering his eyes.

"That's right...Spider bites." Sam sends a look in his brother's direction, picking up the conversation with a more understanding tone.

"Matt, you tried to scare her with a spider." Matt looks at all of us, understanding why we tracked him down now and trying to back pedal.

"Wait, you think  _I_ had something to do with that?"

"You tell us," Dean comments.

"That tarantula was a joke and anyway that wouldn't explain the bee attack or that gas company guy."

"You know about those," Sam asks.

"There is something going on here; I don't know what, but something's happening with the insects. Let me show you something." He shoulders his backpack, walking past us and up a different trail.

"Guys," I say as we follow after him," this kid isn't our guy."

"Yeah," Dean grunts," I got that." This is the type of kid that would be afraid of his own shadow, if he killed someone, then I'm Santa.

"So if you knew about all this bug stuff, why not tell your dad," Sam inquires. "Maybe he could clear everybody out."

"Believe me, I've tried," Matt shrugs," but, uh, Larry doesn't listen to me."

"Why not?"

"Well see, he's too disappointed in his freak son." That sounds weirdly familiar.

"I hear ya."

"You do," Dean asks. Sam doesn't answer him, just continues to talk to Matt. Dean and I share a look, the older man not understanding what Sam meant. Joh Winchester might as well be a god in Dean's eyes, but Sammy and I saw past the righteous judgment façade and straight to the monster. All he is, is your average hunter with a drinking problem.

"Matt, how old are you?"

"Sixteen."

"Well don't sweat it because in two years something great is gonna happen."

"What?"

"College. You'll be able to get out of that house and away from your dad."

"What kind of advice is that," Dean challenges, the hurt in those emerald eyes of his plain to see to anyone who'd take the time to look. "Kid should stick with his family. Sam stops, making the rest of us do the same as he gives Dean an annoyed look. I put a hand on Dean's arm protectively, letting Sam know to reign himself in before he did something he would regret later. Sam may have been the one John ridiculed, but Dean took the real abuse—mental and physical.

"How much further, Matt?"

"We're close," Matt says, walking quickly to get away from the family drama. Matt stops in a large clearing, the trees surrounding it towering high above us. "I've been keeping track of insect populations as part of an AP science class.

"Like two peas in a pod," Dean snarks, earning an elbow to the stomach from Zane and I at the same time.

"What's been happening," Sam questions.

"A lot," Matt smiles. "I mean, from bees to earth worms, beetles, you name it—it's like they're congregating here."

"Why?"

"I don't know."

"What's that?" Sam's question draws my gaze to a mound of dirt, reminding me of all the old Indian legends Uncle B told me about when I was younger.

"Probably a burial mound," I speak up. "Indians are buried all over Oklahoma, they even have their own cemeteries for this kind of burial now. My cousin was buried around this time last year and this is how the mound looks now." Dean shrugs past us, leading the way over to the mound with the rest of us trailing after him. The top of it looks like loose dirt and worms, a portion of it giving way when Dean taps it with the toes of his boot. He squats down, poking around in the hole with a stick for a minute.

"There's something down there," he says, looking at us over his shoulder. He tosses the stick aside, using his hand to dig around and finally pull something out. He holds up a dirt covered skull and I nod with confidence in my growing theory.

"I told you so."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s snowing like crazy here and I’ve come to the conclusion that my muse for this story pops up with bad weather. -_-* Why does inspiration strike when the internet hates working right?


	23. 23

"So a bunch of skeletons in an unmarked grave," Sam says casually as we walk up to the college.

"Yeah," Dean nods," maybe this is a haunting—pissed off spirits with some unfinished business."

"Possible," I shrug," but Indians from way back when were the type to do curses, not hauntings. My cousin was sure I knew about that before he passed away." I shudder at the memory, rubbing my arm. "He said he put a curse on my dog and I didn't think he was telling the truth until the day after his funeral when Captain was shot on accident by a hunter." Zane pats my back sympathetically. "Anyway, what's with the bugs and why now of all times?"

"Well that's two questions." Sam shifts the box he's holding a little, his jacket covering the top so that we don't have to worry about a college kid getting a sneak peak at human skulls and freaking out. "So with that kid back there, how could you tell him to just ditch his family like that?"  _Here we go again_ , I think glumly.

"Just, uh, I know what the kid's going through," Sam says.

"How 'bout telling him to respect his old man, how's that for advice?"

"Dean, come on." Sam stops to face his brother. I swear, if our lives were a TV show, this would probably be a soap opera with as much drama as these two drag around with them and discuss at really bad times. It's like in Pushing Daisies when Chuck and Ned talk about their problems while grave robbing, but without Emmerson as comic relief. "This isn't about his old man. You think I didn't respect Dad, that's what this is about."

"Just forget it, alright? Sorry I even brought it up."

"I respected him, but no matter what I did it was never good enough."

"So what are you saying, that Dad was disappointed in you?"

"Was?  _Is_ , always has been."

"How could you think that?"

"Because I didn't want to bow hunt or hustle pool, because I wanted to go to school and live my life, which in our whacked up family made me the freak." I grab the sleeve of Zane's shirt, making him follow me inside the school so those two could have their emotional moment.

"That happen a lot," Zane asks, taking a seat on a bench in the hall while I pace in front of it.

"Way too often for it to be normal," I nod, looking at the doors as Sam and Dean step inside. Dean nods towards the classroom, heading in to introduce us. He seems to like the leader roll, but I hope it doesn't go to his head.

"So you four are students," the professor inquires. I tug at the bottom of my Iron Man shirt when the professor walks back into the room with the box tucked under his arm.

"Yeah," Sam answers," we're in your class—Anthro 101."

"So," Dean interrupts, pointing at the box that was now set on the professor's desk. "What about the bones, Professor?"

"This is quite an interesting find you made," he informs us," I'd say they're one hundred and seventy years old give or take. The time frame and the geography heavily suggest Native American." I smile, giving Dean a smug look when the professor confirms my Indian theory.

"Were there any tribes or reservations on that land," Sam asks.

"Not according to the historical record, but the, uh, relocation of native peoples was quite common at that time."

"Is there any way we can find out about the local legends," I ask. "You know, like the old man of the tribe that knows pretty much every old story that might connect with these bones?"

"Well…" He rubs his chin in thought. "You know, there's a Euchee tribe in Sapulpa. It's about sixty miles from here. The old man you're looking for might be out there." I shake his hand with my thanks, taking the lead this time and making it to the Impala first.

"Let's head out there in the morning, I'm tired and sore in places I didn't think could even get sore." Dean snorts, starting up the car and driving back towards Zane's house.

**The Next Morning**

I pull on my maroon colored pea coat over my black tee, not looking forward to the drive ahead of me this morning with only one cup of coffee in my system. Dean tugs playfully on my ponytail, receiving a death glare when he turns to grin at me. "Boy, do you have a death wish?"

"Sorry, Liza." I curl up in my spot in the Impala, Sam and Dean in the front seat, and Zane following behind us in his own car. It takes us most of the morning a couple of stops to ask for directions before we finally find the man we're looking for. He's seated in a diner, playing solitaire and sipping on coffee like a lot of the small town old men I know.

"Joe Whitetree," Sam asks as we approach the only man in the diner that looks like an Indian. That's not saying much, I guess considering I have Indian blood in me, but I look like your average white girl. The old man nods, his grey hair in two braids that kept it out of his face. "We'd like to ask you a few questions, if that's alright."

"We're students from the university," Dean adds.

"No you're not," Joe says simply," you're lying."

"Well, the truth is—"

"You know who starts sentences with 'the truth is'? Liars." Deciding to just take a chance, I slide into the booth across from him, Joe sending me an unwelcome look. He's too much like Uncle B for that look to phase me, so I figure I'll use the same tactics.

"We wanna know about housing development up by the Atoka Valley," I state honestly. "If anyone knows about that kind of stuff, it's the crazy old guys that no one listens to." Joe looks over at Dean.

"I like her, she's not a liar." He returns his attention to me, the serious look still on his face. "Why do you want to know about it?"

"We're hunters and there's a lot of crazy shit happening there involving bugs. Let's face it, it's not normal for bugs to gang up on people and kill them."

"Hunters, huh? I'm too old for that now, used to go around with a younger man named Bobby Singer. Do you know him?"

"He's my uncle, Sir."

"I thought so, he was always going on about the niece he was raising, so I'll tell what my grandfather always told me because your Uncle saved my life on a case. Two hundred years ago, a band of my ancestors lived in that valley. One day, the American Calvary came to relocate them. They were resistant, Calvary impatient. As my grandfather put it, on a night the moon and the sun shared the sky as equals, the Calvary first raided our village. They murdered, raped; the next day, the Calvary came again, and the next and the next. And on the sixth night, the Calvary came one last time, and by the time the sun rose, every man, woman, and child still in the village was dead. They say on the sixth night, as the Chief of the village lay dying, he whispered to the heavens that no white man would ever tarnish this land again. Nature would rise up and protect the valley, and it would bring as many days of misery and death to the white man as the Calvary had brought upon his people."

"That explains the insects," Dean says somberly. "It sounds like nature to me. Six days?"

"And on the night of the sixth day, none would survive." Joe goes back to his game of solitaire, and I scoot out of the booth, patting his shoulder with a small smile. "You tell your uncle I said hi if you survive this."

"I sure will," I tell him, following the boys out of the diner.

"When did the gas-company man die," Sam wonders.

"Dusty died on Friday the twentieth," Zane supplies, twirling his key ring around on his finger.

"March twentieth, that's the Spring Equinox."

"The night the sun and the moon share the sky as equals," Dean quotes.

"So every year about this time, anybody in Oasis Plains is in danger. Larry built his neighborhood on cursed land."

"And tonight's the sixth night," I add, biting my lip. "By sunrise, Larry and his family will be dead if we can't find a way to break this curse."

"You don't break a curse, you get out of its way," Dean says, opening his door," We gotta get those people out of there."

* * *

"Yes, Mister Pike," Dean says into the phone speaker as we speed towards Oasis Plains," there's a main-line gas leak in your neighborhood...Well, it's fairly extensive, I don't want to alarm you, but we need your family out of the vicinity for at least twelve hours or so, just to be safe...Travis Weaver. I work for Oklahoma Gas and Power...Uh..." Dean snaps his cell closed quickly, deciding it'd be a bad idea to panic on the line.

"Give me that," Sam grumbles, snatching it out of Dean's hand and dialing.

"I have an idea too," I say, pulling out my cell and calling Mrs. Pike. Zane had sent me her number in a text five minutes ago in case Dean's plan failed.

"Hello," I hear Joanie say.

"Hi," I say in an overly cheerful southern drawl," I was just callin' to inform y'all that it would be smart to go stay in a motel for the night. You see, there's an escaped criminal on the loose accordin' to my husband—Nate's the chief of police round these parts, and he said the criminal might be heading your way. I would feel just horrible if somethin' happened to your beautiful family when I coulda done somethin' to stop it."

"Oh my God, oh, thank you!" The line goes dead and I stuff my phone back in my pocket with a smile.

"If Larry don't listen to that, then he's just aching to have an axe buried in his head." When we park in front of the Pike residence the lights are all still on and the car is in the driveway. That's it, I'm gonna strangle this guy my damn self if we survive this shit.

"Dammit," Dean grumbles," they're still here." Matt and Larry meet us out on the front porch—Matt looking guilty and Larry looking ready to commit murder.

"Get off my property before I call the cops," he shouts.

"Dad," Matt calls," they're just trying to help."

"Get in the house!"

"You listen to me, you sorry son of a bitch," I growl, my temper reaching boiling point as I stomp forwards and poke Larry in the chest repeatedly, driving him backwards. "You may not give two shits about what happens to that kid right there, but I do, so you're going pull the cotton out of your ears and fucking  _listen_  for once in you miserable life!"

"Dad, they're right."

"Get in the house now," Larry yells.

"Why won't you listen to me?!"

"Because it's crazy! It doesn't make any sense!"

"This land is cursed," Sam yells back, making Larry's attention come back to us. "People have died here. Are you gonna really take that risk with your family?" The soft buzzing from earlier grows louder in volume, becoming clearer.

"Do you hear that," Dean asks.

"What the hell," Larry questions quietly.

"Too late to run," I point out as a swarm of bugs fly over the tree line straight for us. "Inside now! Get inside!" Dean brings up the rear, slamming the front door closed and locking it.

"Is there anybody else in the neighborhood," Sam asks quickly.

"No," Larry shakes his head," it's just us."

"Honey, what's happening," Joanie asks, joining us," What's that noise?" My group takes charge, finding things to stuff in the small spaces between doors and the walls. I run into the kitchen, rummaging through drawers until I find a few dish rags and some duct tape. I jump a little when the lights go out, the comforting hum of the refrigerator cutting off.

"Jesus," I gasp, bringing my findings with me into the front hall again.

"Bug spray," Joanie asks in disbelief when Dean joins us again a single can of bug spray in hand.

"Trust me," he says. A creaking noise gets out attention, the noise coming from the fire place a few feet away from us. "Everybody get upstairs." We don't get the time to move, Bees bursting I through the flue and swarming us. "Everybody upstairs now! Go, go, go, go!" Dean raises the can of bug spray, spraying it in front of the flame of his lighter and creating a torch to kill some of the bugs.

The bee stings hurt, but it's no worse than all the beatings I've taken and kind of just comes with the job. Larry lowers the ladder to the attic, letting Joanie, Matt, and I go up first with him, Sam, Dean, and Zane coming up last. The relative peace doesn't last long when Joanie points out the dust falling from the ceiling. "Termites are having a feast," Zane wheezes, the bee stings causing a reaction. I move quickly, Larry and I pulling him over to a small alcove in the attic where he would be somewhat protected. The Pike family gather around him as the Winchester and I stay out in the open.

The circular portion of wood that the Termites have been chewing on falls through and the bugs come flying in. Dean puts the spray in use again and I bring out the small bottle of perfume I keep on me to join in while Sam and Larry block the hole as best as they can. It doesn't seem to matter because more Termites work their way in through another hole in the roof. Our sprays go out around the same time and we're all left to huddling in the alcove with Zane, doing our best to keep our faces covered.

Just when I thought it would never end, the bugs begin to retreat back through the holes as the sunlight filters in. I fall back against the wall, pulling Zane's inhaler out of his pants pocket and holding it up to his mouth for him to get a couple of puffs in. I can't believe we actually survived this shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My little sister just ran outside screaming do you wanna build a snowman. XD


	24. 24

When we show up at Larry's house the next morning, there's a moving truck parked out front and Larry is busy loading stuff in it. "What, no goodbye," Dean asks jokingly.

"Good timing," Larry says," another hour and we'd have been gone." We walk over to him, shaking his hand.

"For good," Sam asks.

"Yeah, the development's been put on hold while the government investigates those bones you found, but I'm gonna make damn sure no one lives here again. How's Zane doing? He didn't look so good when you guys left last night."

"He'll be in the hospital for a couple of days," I say," apparently he's allergic to bees, he needed to be put on oxygen and monitored, but he'll pull through alright. He said the only thing you need to worry about is finding his down payment." Dean and I go wait by the Impala while Sam talks to Matt for a couple of minutes. Dean wraps an arm around my waist, my head resting on his chest and my arms wrapping around his waist in return.

"How do you think it would have been if we were raised normally," Dean asks softly. "If we weren't raised to know about the things that go bump in the night?" I look up at him, placing a comforting kiss on his jaw before setting my head back down and breathing in the intoxicating smell of leather and aftershave.

"Boring, we probably wouldn't have met and I don't want to imagine that." Sammy joins us, and all of us watch Larry talking to his son without the tense air around them anymore.

"I want to find Dad," Sammy says.

"Yeah, me too," Dean agrees, tightening his hold on me slightly.

"Yeah, but I just….I want to apologize to him."

"For what?"

"All the things I said to him. He was just doing the best he could." There's a small silence before Dean speaks up again.

"Well, don't worry, we'll find him, and you'll apologize, and within five minutes, you guys will be at each other's throats." That gets the laugh Dean's been longing to hear.

"Yeah, probably."

"Are y'all done with the mushy shit," I ask playfully. "Let's hit the road."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update: She made her snowman and it actually looks a lot like Olaf, but now she’s throwing snow at random people while singing “Let it go” so I think she should cut back on Frozen for my own sanity.


	25. HOME

I smile sadly as my niece rambles, high off her ass as she was prepped to go in for surgery. "Sing me," she demands," Winnie Pooh."

"Alright, baby, are you lying down?" I get a mumbled yes and can hear the doctor laughing in the background. "Close your eyes, Lillybug….Are they closed?" Another mumbled affirmative. "Deep in the hundred acre woods where Christopher Robin plays, you'll find the enchanted neighborhood of Christopher's childhood days. A donkey named Eeyore is his friend and Kanga and little Roo. There's Rabbit and Piglet and there's Owl, but most of all Winnie the Pooh. Winnie the Pooh, Winnie the Pooh, tubby little cubby all stuffed with fluff. He's Winnie the Pooh, Winnie the Pooh—willy, nilly, silly, old bear."

"Thank you, Miss Mayson," the surgeon calls out, his voice mainly static over speakerphone. "Normally we wouldn't allow phone calls back here, but the only way to calm her down was to call you and have you sing her song."

"Not a problem, Doc, just take care of my Lillybug."

"Will do, ma'am." The call disconnects and I set my phone down on the table. They finally broke down after another month and are performing an exploratory surgery to see if they can't find out what's causing Lilly so much pain. I pick my Kindle back up, going back to the book I was reading on it before Lilly insisted on talking to me.

"How's the munchkin," Deans asks without looking up from Sam's laptop. I move my hand back and forth in a so-so motion, meaning she was no worse, but she wasn't any better either. "Alright, so I've been cruising some websites. Think I found a few candidates for our next gig." He takes my coffee cup out of my free hand, taking a sip before putting it back. "A fishing trawler found off the coast of Cali, its crew vanished, and we got some cattle mutilations in West Texas." Sam continues to doodle on the motel stationary, looking like he wasn't paying Dean any attention. "Hey! Am I boring you with this hunting evil stuff?" Sam has his innocent puppy face on, and I quickly move my gaze back to the story I've been reading since early this morning.

"No, I'm listening. Keep going," Sam says distractedly, flipping through the pages he had filled.

"And here a Sacramento man shot himself in the head…. _Three_ times." Dean holds up three fingers for emphasis, waving them in Sam's direction before he moves them to cover my view. Sending him a glare, I turn off my Kindle and smack his hand with it. "Ouch!" He shakes the hurt hand, pouting now and earning no sympathy from me as I take a drink of coffee. Sam continues to flip the pages back and forth, his brow scrunching as he thinks.

"Wait, I've seen this."

"What?" He gets off the bed to grab Dean's bag, riffling through it like it contained the Ark of the Covenant. "What are you doing?" He pulls out John's journal, taking a picture out of it and comparing it to his doodle.

"Dean, I know where we have to go next."

"And where's that, Sammy," I ask, pulling my jacket closer around me as I fight off the cold air. Maybe I should put on some pants instead of just walking around in a big tee shirt, panties, and socks. Nah, it's too early for real clothes.

"Back home to Kansas." That was a bad moment for me to try and drink, the coffee going down the wrong pipe and sending me into a coughing fit. At least it didn't spray everywhere this time.

"Where'd that come from," Dean asks after I stopped coughing and was able to breathe again.

"Alright, um, this photo was taken in front of our old house, right?" He brings the picture from John's journal over for Dean and I to examine. John, Dean, Mary, and baby Sam were outside their old house, giving smiles and looking happy. It was the first time I've seen John have a genuine smile on his face, it just didn't coincide with the picture of John I carried around in my head. It's as wrong as Tywin Lannister smiling. "The house where mom died?"

"Yeah."

"It didn't burn down completely, I mean they rebuilt it, right?"

"I guess so, yeah. What the hell are you talking about?"

"Okay, look, this is gonna sound crazy…" Sam picks me up and sets me down in his lap when he steals my seat. The fact that he could do that so easily made me confident my diet is working quite nicely. "The people who live in our old house, I think they might be in danger."

"What makes you think that," I ask, poking his head. "You got an ESP thing going on?"

"Uh…Just, um…"

"Holy shit, you  _do_!" Sam shakes his head, standing suddenly and dropping me in the floor, so he can start packing.

"Just trust me on this." I stand up, grabbing my bag and rubbing my sore ass on the way to the bathroom. Might as well get dressed for today. I pull on a plain black dress with short sleeves and the bottom of it stopping around my knees; black and red plaid, open-toed, pumps; black rose earrings; a silver crescent moon necklace. Feeling lazy, I put my hair up in a messy bun. I'll have to cut it again soon, it's getting hard to tame in the mornings. I line my eyes in black eye liner and some mascara before sliding my glasses on and walking back into the motel room.

"You got a date or somethin'," Dean asks, looking me up and down with raised brows.

"Nope," I say, popping the P. "Just tired of wearing jeans every day." I grab my things, tossing the Styrofoam coffee cup in the trash and stuffing my Kindle in my purse. "Y'all ready for the newest step in Operation Save John?"

"Operation Save John," Sam repeats with a smile. "Aren't you original, Blondie?"

"I like to think I'm original in most areas, ask your brother." I give Sam a cheeky grin, leaving the boys in the motel room and climbing into the Impala. I swear, by the time all this is over, this seat will have a permanent imprint of my ass. Sam and Dean come out of the room a few minutes later, stuffing their bags in the trunk on top of the false bottom before getting in. "So, should I tap my heels together tree times and think to myself 'there's no place like home' or are you gonna start the car?"

Dean is gripping the steering wheel tightly, staring straight ahead. I rest my hand on his shoulder, making him jump and let out a small squeak. "What," he asks hurriedly.

"Are you okay, Dean?"

"Fine, I'm fine. Why? Why do you ask?" There's a panicky note in his voice that lets Sam and I know to keep a good eye on him today.

"You know what, why don't I drive today," Sam suggests, trying to sound casual.

"Uh….Yeah, okay." They switch seats, Dean putting on his sunglasses and beginning to snore a few seconds after that.

"Maybe I should do this by myself, Dean seems really upset."

"He'd be even more upset if you did this by yourself," I point out quietly so as not to wake Dean up. "We're a team, Sammy, and if you go somewhere, we go."

"We're all in this together?" I laugh at the High School Musical, giving Sam a nod. "God, Lilly has ruined my movie taste!" Yeah, she takes pride in that.


	26. 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why, but the only way I could write the scene where Liza breaks into her old house is by listening to Evan Peters singing Come As You Are on repeat. My mom now hates that song, but she agrees that Evan Peters is a sexy bastard! If you're curious about who Noah looks like, I based him on Emmanuel Leconte who plays King Francis I on the Tudors.

"You gonna be alright, man," Sam asks as we come to a stop in front of their old house. It's a normal looking place, almost white picket fence worthy, but that tree out front gave off an eerie vibe. I turn to look out the back window down the street at a pale blue two-story house that had once been mine. We left it after my mom died, so I have no real memories of it except for the times my dad drove past it and told all the plans he had made for us before the thing happened. I wasn't very old back then, so some things are fuzzy, like how my dad looks. All I know is that he was blonde like me and my mom and Uncle Bobby's brother-in-law.

"Let me get back to you on that," Dean responds. I turn around in my seat when I hear their doors opening, getting out of the car and sending my old home one last look as we make our way up towards the old Winchester house. "Liza, if you wanna go check out your house…." He trails off with a shrug. "Go on, we'll meet back at the Impala."

"Thank you," I smile, walking down the street towards my old house. The house needed to have some fresh paint slapped on it, the blue fading in some places and the white trim mostly chipped off. The windows are locked with the curtains drawn, so it's impossible to see inside, but the for sale sign in the front yard let me know I could sneak in for a quick trip down memory lane before heading back. Looking around to make sure no one was watching me, I pull the lock pick set out of my bra and get to work, doing it as discreetly as possible in case someone came outside to water their lawn or something.

To any onlookers I looked like a woman having trouble getting her key to work unless they got too close. After a few seconds longer than usual, I have the door unlocked and shut behind me. The entryway leads directly into the living room, the walls of both rooms painted a boring white. Clean patches along the walls show that there used to pictures hung up and dents in the white carpet show where the furniture was placed. I continue through another doorway into the hallway, across the way is the kitchen, but down the hall are a few closed doors.

I peak in at the kitchen briefly, taking in the black and white tiled floor, gas stove, and refrigerator in one glace, but I have to do a double-take when I notice that the cabinets are painted Coca-Cola red, the only real splash of color so far. I give a shrug, walking on down the hall until I come to the first door on my right—a bathroom and almost a mirror image of the kitchen's color scheme minus the red—the next door is on my left and it's a bedroom, the walls a pastel pink with the baseboards painted white with small crown decals on it. Obviously this was meant to be a little girl's room.

The next room is another bathroom, the master bathroom judging by its size, with a large mirror set into the wall above a counter with two sinks set into it. A his and her style bathroom complete with whirlpool bathtub and a shower. I shake my head, moving onto the next room. This is the last one, situated at the very end of the hall with walls painted a soft cream—it's the largest room in the house excluding the living room with three windows and a lawn chair in the far corner. And in that lawn chair is a man I never thought I would see again, in fact, I had hoped I never would.

The man has shoulder length dark brown hair and the same dark green eyes his daughter has. There's stubble along his jaw that makes him look older than his twenty-five years, and he's got the body of a Greek god. He smirks at me from his place, slouching in the chair with his ankles crossed and a cigarette between two fingers of his left hand. "Good afternoon, Liza," he says in a sinfully seductive drawl that was as natural to him as breathing.

"Don't call me that," I growl at him, remembering all the times he had cheated on my sister over the three years before she died. "You don't get to call me that anymore, you worthless bastard!" He makes a face, taking a long drag from the cigarette.

"So hateful, and you used to be so welcoming to me when we first met."

"That was before I knew you were the type of guy to leave my sister a niece without a cent of even a fucking note!" He scoff, licking his thin lips in such a way that nearly had my mouth watering. Noah Archer was attractive and he knew it, he was the type that used it to get what he wanted. "What are you doing here anyway, Archer?"

"I was in the neighborhood and thought I'd stop by."

" _Really_? You did  _not_  just use that line on me, you pretentious douche."

"Aw, Liza, you look so cute when you're flustered like that." He gets up, stubbing the cigarette out in the ashtray, and then walking over to me. I glower up at him, watching as he sets his hands flat on the wall on either side of my head, letting him think he had me caged in. "You always were so temperamental when you were younger. I liked that about you. Of course, you always turned to jelly when I was around." He grins, leaning in close to sniff my neck. "Mm, cinnamon."

With a grin of my own, I bring my hands up to rest on his shoulders. Rising up on my tiptoes so my lips would brush his ear when I spoke. "You know what else I was in high school?"

"Hmm?"

"A great street fighter." He pulls back slightly, a question in his dark eyes, eyes which widened when I brought my hand back in a fist and socked him in the face, sending him stumbling back and clutching his nose with a howl. "A little tip for the next time you run into a woman you used to know, don't be a complete dick to her when she's capable of kicking your skinny ass." He glares at me, the blood dripping from his nose staining the white carpet. My grin is genuine now, a little smug, as I walk past him and take one of his cigarettes, lighting it and walking out without a look back at him.

He might be a decent hunter, but he's also the biggest asshole I've ever had the displeasure of knowing. By the time I make it back to the Impala, the guys are leaning against it like two old timers that swapped war stories. "Hey, Liza, what took you so long," Sam asks, barely sparing me a glance before he went back to flipping through his dad's journal.

"Oh, you know, taking care of some trash that was left behind." I shrug, throwing the cigarette down on the road before I join them. "Y'all get anything interesting?" Dean opens his mouth to answer, but the second his eyes flick over my shoulder his expression darkens and the words seem to dry up in his throat. "What?" I look behind me, finding Noah stalking out of the house and towards us. "Oh look, the trash escaped."

"What are you…?" Sam trails off upon spotting Noah, giving a displeased growl. "The great white douchebag."

"Nice to see again too, Sammy," Noah grimaces, using a tissue to wipe the drying blood off his face.

"Did Liza do that to you, Archer," Dean asks.

"Who else?"

"That's my girl." I can hear the smile in Dean's voice as he wraps a protective arm around my shoulders. "I guess those lessons stuck after all." Noah gives a sarcastic smile, throwing the tissue down with a frown. "What the hell are you doing here, Archer?" He shrugs with a long sigh, stuffing one hand in his pocket.

"I know the family in your old house, I used to date the mom and she was complaining that she heard rats. Now, we all know what that means when you hear them but never see them, don't we?" He looks smug and all I want to do is punch him again and break that pretty nose of his. "I guess we'll be working together on this one. Who knows, maybe me and Liza can connect. It'll be just like old times." That's when I snapped and ran forward, bringing my foot up hard against his midsection and knocking him to the ground.

"Old times, my ass," I snarl as he looks up at me in shock.

* * *

"We just gotta chill out, that's all," Dean says as he waits on the car to fill up. I sit on the trunk of the car, enjoying the warmth of the sun on my skin. "If this was any other kind of job, what would we do?"

"Sit around a motel room and get drunk until inspiration strikes," Noah suggests, leaning back against the Impala on my right. He isn't looking at us, his eyes glued to the ass of a pretty red head walking towards the convenience store.

"We'd try to figure out what we're dealing with," Sam says with a scowl, pushing away from the car and moving to stand next to his brother. "We'd dig into the history of the house."

"Exactly," Dean nods.

"But we already know that history," I point out. "John wrote every tiny detail down in his journal and you've memorized the damn thing." I raise my head a little, looking at Dean over the rim of my glasses. "How about we rely on some of your memory, huh? What do you remember about the night that started everything?"

"Not much." He shakes his head, eyes nervously shifting everywhere and not keeping eye contact for long. "I remember the fire, the heat….Then I carried you out the front door." He gestures towards Sam as he speaks, staring straight ahead as he tries to remember. "We, uh, stayed at Mister Mayson's house for a bit while Dad got himself together, and I remember you two playing while Liza's sister fixed my meals."

"You carried me out," Sam asks with a little surprise and a lot of admiration.

"Yeah, what, you never knew that?"

"No."

"And, uh, well, you two know Dad's story as much as I do—Mom was….On the ceiling, and whatever put her there was long gone by the time Dad found her."

"Bummer," Noah states in a bored manner. "Old man Winchester have any theories on what put your mom up there and turned her into a crispy critter?" I punch his shoulder as hard as I can, making him wince and rub the spot with a pout. "What the fuck?"

"Work on keeping your head to mouth filter working," I snap. "Before my impulse control and good morals fly out the window and I stab you." He makes a face, mimicking me in a high-pitched tone. "You see, that right there is why I gave my knife to Sammy, but don't think for one seconds that I won't punch you in the fucking throat."

"That's enough," Sam interrupts irritably, picking me up off the car and depositing me between him and Dean so that Dean is between Noah and me. I don't know how much good that will do, though, because I know that Dean wants to hurt Noah as badly as I do. "If we're going to figure out what's going on now, we have to work together to figure out what happened back then, see if it's the same thing."

"Yeah," Dean nods," talk to Dad's friends, neighbors, people who were there at the time."

"Does this feel like just another job to you guys?"

"No," Noah shakes his head," because if this just another job and I was working side-by-side with a woman, I would have gotten laid by now." I look past Dean at the other man, my eyebrows raised in a  _you're an emotionally stunted dick_ expression. He clears his throat, pulling at the collar of his T-shirt. Dean shares my look, shaking his head a little.

"I'm going to the bathroom." Dean walks off, leaving the rest of us behind to watch the car. Sam pays for the gas, putting the pump back in place as I screw the cap back on.

"So," Noah says, drawing out the word and sliding over next to me," who are you bunking with tonight, Liza?" His hand glides over the trunk towards my waist, but Sam stops him, swiftly twisting Noah's hand behind his back and pressing his face against the car. "Ah, ah, I wasn't doing anything, Samsquatch!"

"I'm getting really tired of dealing with your shit," he hisses, forcing Noah's arm up a little higher. "You don't get to call her Liza, you don't get to make those stupid remarks that you think are witty, and you certainly don't get to  _touch_ her! Do you understand, Archer?"

"Y-yes!"

"Good boy." Sam shoves him harder against the car before letting go. I rest a hand on his arm, placing a thank you kiss on his cheek. He nods slightly before walking off in the direction Dean went in.

Later that night, back in the motel room, I sit with my bare feet propped up on the little table with my phone pressed to my ear. "So it was her appendix all this time," I check with Tanya, blowing a strand of blonde hair out of my eyes.

"Yeah, that doctor in town feels like shit now," Tanya says with a relieved laugh. "I'm just glad our baby isn't in pain anymore. Hell, with these meds she's on, she doesn't feel  _anything_. You could drop a house on her and she'd giggle and ask for ice cream." I laugh, leaning my head back to rest on the back of the chair. "Speaking of asking, our Lillybug is sitting here with me and demanding that you sing her song before she passes out again."

"Put her on." There's muffled noise on the other end before my niece answers, her words slurred and almost incomprehensible. "Hey, baby girl, how are you feeling?"

"Awesome," she giggles and I can picture her sitting in Tanya's lap with her eyes wide and glassy. "I feel like I'm on a cloud! Now…." She yawns loudly, smacking her lips afterwards. "Now you sing to me my songy."

"Yes ma'am." I wait until I hear her wiggling stop before beginning the song. "Deep in the hundred acre woods where Christopher Robin plays, you'll find the enchanted neighborhood of Christopher's childhood days. A donkey named Eeyore is his friend and Kanga and little Roo. There's Rabbit and Piglet and there's Owl, but most of all Winnie the Pooh. Winnie the Pooh, Winnie the Pooh, tubby little cubby all stuffed with fluff. He's Winnie the Pooh, Winnie the Pooh—willy, nilly, silly, old bear. Winnie the Pooh, Winnie the Pooh; tubby little cubby all stuffed with fluff. He's Winnie the Pooh, Winnie the Pooh—willy nilly silly old bear." Her soft snores let me know that the song worked and it was time to hang up. "Goodnight, my sweet Lillybug."

I press end call, tossing my phone onto the table with a sigh. "Was that my daughter," Noah asks, sitting in the unoccupied chair with a bottle of beer.

"No, that was the little girl that you don't give a shit about." He and I were alone in the room on research duty while the guys ran out to get our food. I pull Sam's laptop closer to me, scrolling through the websites that hold nothing of interest until the computer is pushed away and Noah takes its place on the table. I let out an annoyed breath, leaning back in the chair again and rubbing my head.

"If I didn't give a shit about her, then I would send her a hundred dollars every month."

"The last check you sent her was when she turned  _two_."

"So?"

"She turns five in three months, you ass!"

"Whatever, my point is that I may not care as much as I should, but I do have a smidge of care for the kid. Hell, how could I not, I mean, I helped to make her."

"You know what, don't talk about Lilly anymore, you don't have that right."

"I have every right!" He's almost shouting at this point, always so quick to anger. "She's my daughter and I can talk about her to whoever I damn well please." I stand so fast that the chair topples over, Noah meeting me as the two of us stand nose to nose. "You don't get to decide if I can talk about Lilly,  _Elizabeth_." He puts emphasis on my name, staring down at me defiantly. "What are you going to do about it, shorty?" He grins, leaning down to kiss me, his hands cupping my face tightly to keep me from turning my face.

I struggle against him, trying to bring my knee up into his groin, but he's already stepping on both of my feet. The fingers of one of his hands tangle in the hair at the base of my neck to keep my head in place while the other grabs hold of my wrists to keep me from hitting him. That's the moment Dean and Sam decide to show back up, Dean saying something to Sam about being the difference between pie and cake. He stops mid-sentence, and I can hear bags hitting the floor and the rapid footsteps before Noah is yanked off me and Sam catches me before I hit the ground.

He holds me tightly while Dean throws Noah out of the motel room, slamming the door after him. "Are you okay, Liza," he asks, taking me from Sam and holding me tightly against him on one of the beds while Sam leaves to deal with the creep. "It's okay, I've got you." He rocks us back and forth, trying to calm the both of us down.

"Don't leave me alone with him again," I gasp, still trying to catch my breath.

"I'll never leave you alone again, Liza, I promise."

 


	27. 27

Dean woke early the next morning as he always did, looking around drowsily as he deftly untangled his limbs from Elizabeth's. Sam was sitting at the table, already dressed for the day and scrolling through websites. "Hey," Dean greets, his voice rough from sleep. "What's up with the, uh, Archer situation?"

"Well, we shouldn't let Liza out of our sight while that prick is around," Sam answers, shutting the laptop and turning to face his older brother. "He thinks all women should kneel at his feet and beg for the chance to kiss his boots." Dean scoffs at that, running a hand over his face. "He obviously doesn't know our Liza as well as he thinks he does."

"Yeah, she'll have him for breakfast if he keeps it up, and I'll let her do it, too." He stands, pulling off the shirt he fell asleep in last night and missing the frustrated look Sam sends his way.

"When are you two going to admit you have feelings for each other?" The question catches Dean off guard, the older man's mouth opening and closing a few times before he finally settles on a simple  _what do you mean_  answer. "I mean…." Sam trails off for a seconds before getting a smug little half-smile. "What's her favorite color?"

"Purple," Dean answers automatically, not needing time to think about it.

"Who gave her the nickname 'Liza'?"

"I did when I was younger and couldn't say Elizabeth." He saw no point to the questions so far, continuing to dress while Sam thought up another one.

"Favorite dessert?"

"It's a tie between cherry cheesecake and hot fudge sundae."

"Favorite flower?"

"Azalea."

"What's her perfume?"

"She doesn't like perfume, but she has that Warm Vanilla Sugar body wash that smells amazing. Are these questions supposed to mean something, Sammy?"

"Yeah, the fact that you don't have to think about any of those before you answer is what a serious boyfriend would be able to do."

"A guy that's known her since she was six months old could do it too."

"Apparently not, because I didn't know about the perfume thing or her favorite flower." Dean scowls, shaking his head and disappearing into the bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth. Sam seemed to be purposefully annoying him this morning, and Dean was already fed up with it. So what if he knows things about Liza that Sam didn't? If she wanted to date, then she could ask him herself, but he knew she wasn't the settle down type just like him.

"Stupid," Dean mutters under his breath, holding his toothbrush under the water for a few seconds before squeezing some toothpaste out on it.

"Archer and I are going to get breakfast."

"Yeah!" Not long after he heard the door to the room shut, the bathroom door opens and Liza shuffles inside with a fresh change of clothes and her wash. She sets everything down on the back of the toilet, seeming not to notice Dean was even there as she began to undress. "Uh….Liza?" She looks at him, her hazel eyes still foggy with sleep.

"What," she asks, starting the water so it had time to warm up while she peeled off her dress, bra, and panties. Dean watches her with widened eyes, taking in the curves she usually hid under baggy clothing. She was on the heavy side, but he thought it suited her better than if she had been stick thin—it's Liza, she can't be model thin just like she can't have blue eyes or a calm demeanor, it wouldn't be right if she did. He shakes those thoughts away, looking back in the mirror to brush his teeth with his eyes at a good enough angle that he wouldn't be able to see Liza's naked form through the shower curtain.

Averting his eyes wasn't as effective as he had hoped it would be, the scent of her favorite body wash almost enough to make his mouth water. She always smelled like freshly baked cookies; that pleasant scent that fills a kitchen just as the cookies reach the best point where they're perfectly baked and you want to pull them out and devour them all at once. He hisses in slight discomfort, readjusting his pants and trying to think of anything except the woman showering not three feet away from him.

 _Puppies_ , Dean thinks rapidly,  _puppies and kittens and that stupid painting Bobby has hanging up in his guest bedroom with a bowl of fruit and that weird random monkey_. Just as he was beginning to calm down, the water shuts off and he has to scramble out of the bathroom to keep from seeing her without any clothes on again. Why hasn't Sam came back yet? Logically, he knew that it would impossible for Sam to have gotten the food so quickly, but it kept Dean's mind occupied until Liza stepped out of the bathroom again.

"You okay," Liza asks, pulling her hair back in a ponytail, an easy smile on her lips and lighting up her hazel eyes. The truth is, Dean wasn't sure he was okay, not when Elizabeth was standing in front of him in an outfit like  _that_. She been dressing a lot different lately, no longer choosing outfits that hid her body from view. The skirt she has on is long enough to keep her modest, a black and white plaid number that had him thinking of a naughty school girl meets mega geek as his eyes drift to the Batman tee shirt she had on and the biker boots keeping her feet warm.

He wanted to form a complete sentence, honestly he did, but all he managed as he stared at her was a simple, not to mention unmanly, squeak that sent Liza into a fit of laughter. He likes her laugh, it was breathy and soft, like the winding sighing through the trees. He also liked the way that her hair curled softly after she gets out of the shower. He shakes his head abruptly, trying to force the thoughts out of his mind so that he could focus on something other than the growing urge to throw her on the bed and never leave the room for the rest of the day, Sam be damned.

"F-Fine," he finally manages when her laughter abates, scratching the back of his neck. His eyes stay glued to her feet, the only safe thing on her that he can focus on right now without worrying his dick will make a guest appearance. "Uh, Sammy went to get us some food."

"I figured." Her boots move as she walks over to the table to grab her purse, Dean's eyes slowly trailing up her legs—well defined after all the workouts she was forced to go through for this job—up to her ass. She had a relatively small ass and hips to match, Bobby used to joke that she was a boney butt whenever she sat on his lap when he was little. She was a full grown woman and her butt had never developed, stuck at the same size it was back in high school.

He liked it, though, just like he liked most of the things that made her up. She's the only woman he's met that he hasn't just ditched after one night, the he didn't want to ditch after one night. He keeps coming back to her and he supposes that it's because he doesn't have to lie to her, she already knows everything there is to know. She could answer all the questions Sam had put him through this morning as quickly as Dean had if their roles were reversed.

"How are you feeling?" It takes him a moment to realize that while he had been thinking about her, she had moved from the table and was now standing in front of him. "I know this case has to be hard on you, harder than it is on Sam since you were the one there that night."

"Uh, it's hard, yeah, but I'll work through it like I do everything else." He shrugs, wondering if it was too early for him to have a beer while they waited on the others to get back. "What about you? Are you still shaken up about last night?" He'd saw red when he walked in last night and saw the way that Archer was man-handling her, he'd wanted to tear the man's lungs out with his bare hands until he saw how it had left Liza. So he'd let Sammy handle Archer while he calmed their friend down, both of them managing to pass out soon afterwards due to emotional drainage.

"I'm fine, I should've been able to handle him." She shakes her head, eyes straying to the mini-fridge with longing and restraint. "Oh well, he's just a dick and he'll get what's coming to him eventually." Sam and Archer show up a few minutes later with a grease-soaked breakfast, the talk turning to the case at hand and who they needed to go talk to. Dean noticed with a smirk that Archer's eyes never strayed from Liza's face when he looked at her and the entire right side of his face was bruised and swollen.

Sammy did a number on him last night and Dean couldn't be more proud of his baby brother if he tried. While the others talk, Dean holds his cup of coffee in both hands, letting the warmth spread from the very tips of his fingers throughout the rest of his body as his thoughts turn to memories—faded and worn like an old photograph. They were memories he hadn't thought about in a long time, memories of long days spent with his mom, comforting her as she cried, but he didn't know why. The one that stands out the most is from  _that_ night, the night where everything went to hell, but was so perfect for a brief moment.

His dad had come home, had been happy to see him again, and his mom had seemed to be on the path to forgive John for whatever it was he had done. It was the last night that John treated Dean as a child instead of a soldier, the last night John looked at Dean without alcohol-fueled rage in his eyes. "Dean?" He comes back to reality with a start, Elizabeth waving a hand in front of his face with worry in her eyes.

"Yeah," he asks, voice breaking slightly. He clears his throat, taking a drink of his coffee before speaking again. "What is it?"

"We were about to leave for John's old job," Archer supplies, throwing their breakfast leftovers in the trash.

"Great, let's get goin'." He stands, throwing the full, but now cold, cup of coffee in the trash and leading the way out to the Impala. Sam doesn't hesitate to get in the back with Liza, forcing Archer to occupy the front seat next to Dean as a way all of them could keep a close eye on him. It isn't until he looks in the rearview mirror in order to back out that he realizes Elizabeth is wearing makeup, something she rarely bothers with. Is she trying to impress someone or is she going through one of those girly phrases?

He didn't know, he didn't  _want_ to know, but he stuck by his opinion that she was beautiful with or without that stuff on her face. It made her feel good about herself, so who was he to tell her otherwise? Forcing the thoughts away and focusing on the task at hand, Dean slips into the role of big brother and protector as he drives away from the hotel and further into town.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there you have it, an entire chapter in Dean’s point of view. ;) Anyway, I hope y’all like this one, sorry if there are any mistakes I might have missed.


	28. 28

"You and John Winchester, you, uh, you used to own this garage together," Dean asks as we follow the middle-aged man through the garage where cars were being worked on and the scent of grease hung heavy in the air.

"Yeah, we used to," the man laughs, wiping his hands off on an equally dirty rag," a long time ago. Matter of fact, must be twenty years since John disappeared. So, why are the cops interested all of a sudden?"

"Oh, we're reopening some of our unsolved cases, and the Winchester disappearance is one of them."  _Thank God we already went over what to say in case this came up, that's one thing Noah has going for him—he's always prepared._

"Well, what do you want to know about John?"

"Whatever you can think of," I shrug," whatever pops up first in your head."

"Well….He was a stubborn bastard, I remember that. And, uh, whatever the game, he hated to lose, you know? It was that whole Marine thing. But, uh, he sure loved Mary, and he doted on those kids. There was a family that lived down the street from him, the Mayson's, John spent a lot of time with Daniel Mayson, Mary watched their girls from time to time."

"But that was before the fire," Sam checks.

"That's right." The man looks sad now, the mention of the fire putting a taint on his memories.

"He ever talk about that night?"

"No, not at first. I think he was in shock."

"Right, but eventually—what did he say about it?"

"Oh, he wasn't thinking straight. He said, uh—he said something caused that fire and killed Mary."

"He ever say what did it," Dean questions, the muscles in his jaw flexing as he tries to keep himself professional.

"Nothing did it, it was an accident. An electrical short in the ceiling or walls or something. I begged him to get some help, but…."

"But what," Noah presses.

"It just got worse and worse."

"How's that?"

"He started reading these strange old books, he started going to see this palm reader in town." That got everyone's attention, prompting Noah ask the most obvious question.

"Does the psychic have a name?"

"No, sorry. Is there anything else, because I need to get back to work?" Dean waves him off, leading the way outside to a phone booth and letting Sam rifle through the  _Yellow Pages_.

"I hear-tell you guys are looking for a psychic," a familiar voice says just before I recognize Zane walking towards us. He has on a nice suit with a grey overcoat, the only splash of color being the bright red tie that seemed to bring the entire outfit together—sunglasses hiding his eyes from view, but I knew they'd matching his little half-grin. "There's only one psychic in Lawrence that's worth going to, she goes by Missouri Moseley. We have an appointment with her in a few minutes." Zane looks past me at Noah, his eyebrows barely showing over the top of his sunglasses, meaning he had raised them. "You know, handsome, I'm currently single."

"Sorry," Noah says sarcastically," I don't go for people with black hair." With a smile, Noah holds out a hand for Zane to shake, my best friend obliging. "I'm Noah Archer." Just like that, Zane had his sunglasses off and his friendliness had melted away. Zane turns his eyes to me, turning them back to him after my nod. He knows who Noah is, and he's always wanted to meet the asshole that could cheat on my sister and dump her after their daughter was born.

"Boy, I wouldn't stick my dick in you if it was the only thing that would save the earth from colliding with the sun. Disgusting, douche nugget."

"Suddenly I like you a little more now, Daniels," Dean smirks, patting Zane's shoulder. "Even though you do have terrible taste in men." Zane's grin is back as he playfully swats Dean's ass.

"Don't look so put out, I'd hit on you if I was certain you were into….Ah, subtext." With that, he gets in the Impala with Noah and Sammy, leaving me to explain Zane's code. Dean looks at me with raised brows, looking a little offended.

"You can't spell subtext without butt sex," I tell him, patting his shoulder before squeezing in the backseat with Zane and Noah. Zane sits in the middle, taking pride in sitting uncomfortably close to Noah and squishing him against the door and window. When Zane doesn't like you, you know about it because he doesn't do subtle. "Give Dean directions and Noah a break, he's already had his ass beaten."

"But I'm having so much fun with our good buddy!" His happy tone is heavily laced with sarcasm, sending a glare in Noah's direction, the older brunette trying to get away from Zane only to smack his head against the window. "This is better than that time I scammed my way past that Russian security guard and stole a diamond bracelet from the ambassador's wife."

"Thank you for that, by the way. It's still my favorite piece of jewelry."

* * *

The waiting room of Missouri's office is smaller than I thought it would be, a coffee table in the center of the room holding magazines for us to flip through, but I stuck with my Kindle and read some of my new Stephen King book. "Alright, then," comes the sweet-sounding voice of a woman just before a middle-aged balding man and a portly woman walk out from the back," don't you worry about a thing. Your wife is crazy about you."

"There she is," Zane whispers to me, throwing his magazine back down on the table as the woman shuts the front door and faces us. She has a kind face, round with her short black hair held out of her face by a headband, and dark skinned with round honest eyes. I like her already.

"Whew, poor bastard—his woman is cold-bangin' the gardener." She shakes her head a little, heading back the way she just came from.

"Why didn't you tell him," Dean asks. She pauses, facing us again with a shrug.

"People don't come here for the truth. They come for good news. Well?" Her voice is impatient now, not to mention familiar. "Sam, Dean, the rest of you, come on already, I don't got all day." Zane snorts, getting up and following after her with the rest of our group trickling in behind him. We stop in a backroom, Missouri looking us over with a smile and her hands on her hips. "Well, let me look at ya." She laughs a little with a big smile, as though she knows us already. "Oh, you boys grew up handsome and you were one goofy-looking kid, too." She points at Dean as she says the last part, making Noah snort. She pats my hair down, turning her attention to me. "And you look just like your momma, she was always pretty."

"Um, thanks, I guess," I respond, shooting Zane a questioning look. He shrugs with an easy smile, sunglasses pushed up on his head and making some of his hair stick up.

"Sam." Missouri gently takes hold of Sam's wrist, looking like someone had just told her they'd ran over her cat right afterwards. "Oh, honey. I'm sorry about your girlfriend." All of us except Zane give Missouri wide-eyed looks when she speaks of things she shouldn't be able to know. "And your father….He's missing?"

"How'd you know all that," Sam asks, voicing what all of us wanted to.

"Well, you were thinking it just now."

"Well, where is he," Dean asks next," Is he okay?"

"Does Jon Snow die in Game of Thrones," I ask directly afterwards, Missouri completely ignoring me as she answers Dean.

"I don't know," she says with a shake of her head.

"Don't know," Dean demands," you're supposed to be a psychic, right?" I give his shoulder a light punch, shaking my head when he glances down at me. Really, is he trying to make this lady hate us? I swear, this boy could write a damn book— _How to Gain Hate From a Psychic in two Sentences or Less_. Zane seems to share my thoughts, rolling his eyes and giving Missouri an apologetic look. Missouri doesn't notice, reacting just the way I thought she would with a pissed off look.

"Boy, you see me sawing some bony tramp in half? You think I'm a magician? I may be able to read thoughts and sense energies in a room, but I can't just pull facts out of thin air." I grin, liking her sassy attitude. "Sit! Please." She sits in an armchair, leaving the rest of us to make do with the couch across from her—Sam and Dean sitting on the cushions, me sitting in between them, and Zane and Noah taking a seat of the couch arms. We barely get settled down when Missouri points at Dean with a stern expression on her face. "Boy, you put your foot on my coffee table, I'm gonna whack you with a spoon." Dean looks successfully chided, swallowing hard.

"Oh, I like you," I smile, crossing one ankle over the other.

"I didn't do anything," Dean responds, his green eyes going wide as they always do whenever he gets caught doing something or nervous.

"She's a psychic, jackass," Noah reminds him," the mind-reading type that can see every naughty thought you have, so I wouldn't think too much if I were you."

"And you, Archer," Missouri says, turning her gaze on him," you keep your mouth shut or I'm gonna shove that spoon somewhere you can't remove it! Leavin' poor Dana alone to raise a baby; you should be ashamed of yourself." Noah looks down at his shoes, having the grace to blush under Missouri's harsh glare.

"Okay," Zane says after a moment of awkward silence, drawing out the Y sound," when did you first meet Johnny boy?"

"He came for a reading a few days after the fire. I just told him what was really out there in the dark—the reason Christopher was often gone and leaving his daughters with their uncle in South Dakota." She knew my dad, too? "Yes, honey, I even babysat you a few times. I drew back the curtains for both of them, helped Christopher to understand what killed his wife." No one's ever told me what killed Katherine, just that she died a few days after I was born.

"What about the fire," Dean asks, leaning forward and resting his arms on his knees. "D-do you know about what killed our mom?"

"A little. Your daddy took me to your house. He was hopin' I could sense the echoes, the fingerprints of this thing."

"And could you," Sam inquires, blinking back tears. I hold both boys' hands, squeezing them as I fight back the thoughts clouding my head about my mother.

"I don't…." She shakes her head, looking more troubled than she did when we first walked in.

"What was it?"

"I don't know." She shakes her head again, looking at the two siblings tenderly. "But it was evil. So, you think something's back in that house?"

"Oh, I know there is," Noah states," an old flame of mine called in a favor to see if I could get rid of the rats in her house, but, uh, there weren't any rats. Something's in that place and I'd bet my life that it's nothin' good." Missouri stands, walking around in a way to calm herself.

"I don't understand."

"What's there to be confused about," I ask, shifting to sit on the very edge of the couch. "There's something there and it's probably the thing that got Mary." Missouri sits in her chair again, looking worried now.

"I haven't been back inside, but I've been keeping an eye on the place, and it's been quiet. No sudden deaths, no freak accidents. Why is it acting up now?"

"Maybe the new occupants brought whatever it is with them."

"No," Noah shakes his head," I would've noticed that in their old house, they didn't bring it with 'em."

"I don't know," Sammy sighs dejectedly," but dad going missing and Jessica dying and now this house—all happening at once—it just feels like something's starting."

"That's a comforting thought," Dean frowns. What the hell is going on in our lives anymore? Jesus, it's like John going missing was just a catalyst and everything's gone wonky since then—simple hunts turning hard, that bad case of something that hit me a few months ago, and now their old house acting up. Why do I get the feeling that we're all just plain screwed?

 


	29. 29

After a quick stop at the motel for me to change into something warmer, we herd ourselves into two cars before driving to the old Winchester place. Dean, Sam, and I rode in the Impala while Missouri, Zane, and Noah drove in Noah's beat-up Dodge truck—an experience Zane wasn't happy about at all, voicing as much when we parked across the street from our destination. "It was filthy," he complains, running a hand through his hair," it smelled like stale beer and Doritos."

"Sorry, sweetie," I shrug, standing behind the others as we crowd around the front door and Dean knocks. "You're the one that chose to ride with him."

"Yeah, so I could taunt him and make him realize that the gaping hole inside him is where his soul used to be, not so that  _I_ could be traumatized by the smell of a cheap bachelor!"

"Just behave," I hiss as the front door opens to reveal a pretty blonde holding a toddler. "Well, this is familiar." Noah sends me a glare and a  _not a word_ look.

"Sam, Dean," she greets in a tired voice," what are you guys doing here?"

"They're with me," Noah replies for them, moving towards the front of the group and taking the little boy from her. "This is Missouri Moseley, she's a psychic and here to help. That's Elizabeth, she's a hunter too, and that' her pet monster, Zane Daniels—pay him no attention, he's just jealous of everyone and everything." The look Zane sends in his direction could have made Satan tuck tail and run. "Anyway, we need inside for a little while to do our thing." She looks uncertain, taking her son back and holding him as though she'd lose him if he left the circle of her arms.

"Uh, I don't think now is the best time for that." Noah opens his mouth to say something, but Missouri whacks the back of his head in a not-so-subtle way of making sure he kept his fat mouth shut. Hot damn, I might have to try that in the future to spare me the sore knuckles I get from punching him.

"Give the poor girl a break," she scolds with a frown," can't you see she's upset?" Jenny looks at her in a new light, some of her worry giving way to amusement. "Forgive this boy—well, you know what, don't forgive him. He's a lousy little know it all just like his daddy was." And there it was, the look I never thought I would see, a glare even worse than Zane's. I'm only half-surprised when Noah doesn't catch on fire. "Hear me out, Jenny."

"About what," Jenny asks, still blocking the doorway of the house with her son angled away from us.

"About this house." Do we have to spell out a haunting to her? Noah must have kept everything hush-hush in their relationship, or their "relationship" was actually him living with her for two weeks in college.

"What are you talking about?" The worry is back now, hitting her full force.

"I think you know what I'm talking about. You think there's something in this house, something that wants to hurt your family. Am I mistaken?" If she wasn't a believer before, she sure is one now. I take a step forward, filling the gap Missouri left between Sam and Dean. Instinctively, both boys take one of my hands, like we did when we were younger and being taught the rules of the game. Dean, Sam, and I always hunted in a group—Dean was our protector and he wanted to be sure none of us got separated.

"Who are you?"

"We're people who can help, who can stop this thing, but you're gonna have to trust us just a little." There's a moment of silence where Jenny studied all of us, unsure if she wanted to let a group of strangers in her house even if she knew about the surface of our jobs, that we killed the bad things she didn't want to believe existed. Finally, after one last look in Missouri's direction, she steps off to the side so that we can enter.

"Please, help us." Missouri leads the way, Noah being second, and the rest of us falling in behind them. It seemed like Missouri already knew where she needed to go, straight up the stairs into a bedroom while Noah stayed downstairs with Jenny and the little boy.

"If there's a dark energy in here, this room should be the center of it." I look around, taking in the blue walls and the bed against the right wall facing the closet.

"Why," Sam asks, almost like he didn't want to know the answer. I can't blame him, I'm not sure I want to know either.

"This used to be your nursery, Sam. This is where it all happened." This is the room where baby Sammy used to crawl around and play, but it's also the room where Mary was killed by a demon that sparked a madness in John. Missouri looks at me over her shoulder, giving a slight nod of confirmation. Right, mind-reader. I let out a shaky breath, making sure to keep my thoughts focused on this case and not on what happened my senior year of high school. The high-pitched whine of Dean's EMF detector makes me jump and tense until I realize what it is, blushing when Dean sends a worried look in my direction. I shake my head a little, giving a tight smile. "That an EMF?" She faces away from the bedside table she'd been studying, looking at Dean.

"Yeah," he nods, giving her a brief stare before looking back down at the device in his hand.

"Amateur." This has to be a little girl's room, no one else would stick stickers everywhere like they are in this room. They're too high for the little boy downstairs to reach, but perfect for a girl around seven or eight years old. The whine grows louder and constant, all the small lights on the EMF glowing red to signal a high presence of either ghost energy or electricity. "I don't know if your boys should be disappointed or relieved," she tells Sam and Dean," but this ain't the thing that took your mom."

"Are you sure," Sam asks, taking a half-step forward. Zane and I share a look, both of us feeling weird in the room where everything for the Winchesters began. Missouri nods at Sam's question, not looking so hot. "How do you know?"

"It isn't the same energy I felt the last time I was here. It's something different." Her face hardens when her eyes land on the closet doors.

"What is it," Dean asks, voice rough. I lay a hand on his arm, offering some comfort in a hard situation. Missouri throws the doors open and steps into the walk-in closet.

"Not  _it_ …." She stops in the very center of the closet, turning to face us again. "….Them." My brows furrow, sending a worried glance in Zane's direction before looking at the psychic again. "There's more than one spirit in this place."

"What are they doing here?"

"They're here because of what happened to your family." She walked out as she spoke, rejoining us in the main part of the bedroom. "You see, all those years ago, real evil came to you." Her eyes are locked on Sam, making him uncomfortable at her sudden attention solely on him. "It walked this house. That kind of evil leaves wounds, and sometimes wounds get infected."

"I don't understand," Sam admits with a shake of his head.

"This place is a magnet for paranormal energy." She looks away from him finally, looking around the room as though she expected a monster to jump out at any second. Knowing this job, it's probable. "It's attracted a Poltergeist—a nasty one—and it won't rest until Jenny and her babies are dead."

"You said there was more than one spirit." Missouri looks at all of us again, rejoining the real world.

"There is." She walks back into the closet, standing in the same spot she had earlier. "I just can't make out the second one." She walks back out again in slight disappointment.

"Well," Dean speaks up, pocketing the EMF," one thing's for damn sure—nobody's dying in this house ever again." He stares down Missouri, resolved to do whatever it takes to put an end to this mess. "So, whatever  _is_ here, how do we stop it?" Now, that's what I want to know.

* * *

Back in Missouri's shop, we start up little baggies of ingredients that Missouri set before us at the table. "What exactly are we making," I ask, sprinkling some stuff on top of the other stuff that Dean had sprinkled on it.

"Angelica root," Missouri answers, placing another bottle of stuff on the table," Van van oil, crossroad dirt, a few other odds and ends. We have to put them inside the walls; in the north, south, east, and west corners on each floor of the house."

"Mm, sounds like fun." Missouri sits in the chair next to me, working on her own juju bag.

"Punching holes in the drywall," Dean quips," Jenny's gonna love that."

"She'll live," Missouri points out. "Honey, why don't you run into the kitchen and get us all something to drink, let Sam take over for ya?"

"Sure thing," I nod, pushing my chair back and heading to the kitchen in the next room, hearing footsteps behind me and just assuming Zane was coming to help. I open the fridge door, pulling out some beer and handing the bottles to Zane to hold while I got a bottle of water for myself.

"That's a nice view you're teasing me with, Elizabeth." I tense at Noah's voice straightening too quickly and smacking the back of my head on the refrigerator. "Ooh, I bet that hurt, huh. You know, you should just give in to my charms, they all do eventually." I turn on my heel to face the grinning little prick, my own expression angry enough to make his falter.

"I know a lot of things, Noah," I say in a deadly calm voice with a smile to match. "I know that McGonagall giggled while those Hogwarts letters drove Harry's uncle crazy, I know Sam admires his hair in the bathroom mirror every morning, and I know that Lilly sneaks a package of powdered donuts into her room every night." I continue to stare up at him, seeing how he tried to hide his fear. "The one thing I'm most proud of knowing, though, is how to kill you with a golf club and make it look like Dora the Explorer did it with a paperclip."

"N-now, Elizabeth—"

"If you'll excuse me, I have things to do." I scoop up the beers off the counter and move back into the other room, proud that I nearly had a man peeing himself, but still too annoyed at the encounter to smile about it. That can wait until that family is saved.

"Remember, Liz, smiles are contagious," Zane reminds me with a fake cheerfulness.

"I've been vaccinated."

**LATER THAT NIGHT….**

With a hammer and a hex bag thingy, I head up to the top floor with Zane, going in different directions to get this floor done with. It's weird being in this house when I know I spent a few hours here when I was a little baby. According to Missouri, Sam and I had play dates with each other so our moms could talk to each other while the men-folk worked. I scoot a small desk out of my way, kneeling on the floor and using the end of the hammer to tap until I hear an empty thud. When I find it, I flip the hammer over and start beating it against the hollow spot, creating a small hole just big enough to stick the baggy in.

That's when all hell decided to break loose, an old sheet wrapping around my arms tight enough to make me drop the bag. I fight against it, trying hard to get free of the material and making no real difference. A pillow case appears next, covering my head and part of my neck, and constricting like a Boa. My head began to ache after a few seconds of this, breaths cut short, and blood rushing to my head as black spots begin to dance in front of my eyes. Panicking, I increase my struggles despite the fact that they've become sluggish.

_This is it, I'm gonna be killed by a fucking pillow case. This isn't freaking fair, I at least wanted to go out in a cool way, if I wanted to die by strangulation/suffocation, I would've let Clarke do me in a few months ago!_ Just as the world began to go black, the pillow case and sheet are ripped off me and Zane's face comes into view, a deep gash on his forehead showing that he'd been attacked too. Gasping and coughing and not yet able to fully function, I hold up the baggy and he stuffs it quickly in the hole.

"Are you okay," he asks, lying next to me on the floor.

"Eh, I've certainly had worse." A bright white flash makes both of us huddle together, shielding our eyes against it until it died away right after it began. "What the fuck was that?"

"Hopefully something good, but just in case, let's go regroup with the others." He helps me to my feet, both of us supporting each other as we make our way downstairs into the kitchen. The room's a mess, any and all possible weapons strewn all over the place and the kitchen table turned onto its side with several large knives stuck into it point first. I force Zane to sit in a chair while I went to wet a washrag to clean the blood off his face. The gash had stopped bleeding, but there's a lot of dried blood around the cut and down his face.

He'd have to throw out the white shirt he's wearing, but other than that, his clothing seemed to have been spared. The others join us after I sit in Zane's lap, handing off the washrag to Zane so he could clean himself up. Missouri is limping, Sammy has dark red marks around his neck, Noah's hand is badly burned, and Dean seems to be the only one left unharmed. "Hey," he greets," what attacked you guys?"

"Bedding," I grumble, rubbing the raw marks on my neck.

"A wooden duck figurine," Zane responds at the same time.

"Lucky," Noah sighs, wincing as he flips the table back over so he could sit on it. "I had a whole box of matches spontaneously catch fire in my coat pocket." I rest my head on Zane's shoulder, feeling drained and ready to drop. I need a cold beer and a bed right now and no one would convince me otherwise. I don't care if the fucking Moleman from The Incredibles makes an appearance, I want sleep.

"Are you sure this is over," Sam inquires, sounding unsure.

"I'm sure," Missouri answers after a moment of silence. "Why? Why do you ask?"

"Ah, never mind." Sammy's tired yet frustrated sigh lets me know that he's definitely unsure about something. "It's nothing, I guess." Before any of us could probe further, the front door opens and shuts. I hope Jenny doesn't mind the mess since we just saved her ass.

"Hello," Jenny calls out, turning on the hall lights as she goes," we're home." She looks genuinely shocked and curious when she and the kids join us in the kitchen, looking around and no doubt wondering how we could have made this mess in an hour. "What happened?"

"Hi, sorry. Um, w-we'll pay for all of this." Dean looks offended at the thought of paying for damage, sending Sam a look that translated into:  _Shut up, you twit_.

"Don't worry," Missouri soothes," Dean's gonna clean up this mess." She's the one that gets the look this time, Dean's expression enough to make me laugh for the first time tonight. When she doesn't hear movement, Missouri turns to look at Dean. "Well, what are you waiting for, boy? Get the mop." He shakes his head in the same way a teenage boy might when I girl tells him to shove his harassment up his ass. "And don't you cuss at me." I laugh louder at the stern 'mom' look she gives him, sliding off Zane's lap because of the fit.

 


	30. 30

"So, tell me again—what are we still doing here," Dean asks, waking me from my cat nap. Zane and Noah had hit the road a few hours ago, but Sam insisted that we stay put just in case. So here we are, parked outside their old house like stalkers. I sit up slowly, wincing when the raw spot on my arm brushes the seat.

"I don't know," Sam admits," I-I just—I still have a bad feeling."

"Can the bad feeling wait until tomorrow," I ask, resting my head against the back of the front seat, my cheek squished against it and slurring my words. "I mean, when I pictured sleeping tonight, I pictured sleeping in bed with my feet against Dean's hairy man legs to keep them warm."

"Exactly," Dean agrees," the place should be clean and this should be over."

"Yeah," Sam replies distractedly," probably, but I just want to make sure. That's all."

"Yeah, well, problem is that I could be sleeping in a bed right now with Liza's cold lady feet pressed against my legs to keep them cool." He leans his head back next to mine, a chaste kiss pressed against the very tip of my nose.

"Dean!" Sam's sudden shout makes me jump, moving as quickly as Sam to get out of the car even before I'm sure about what's going on. When I circle the car to get to the house, I spot Jenny beating against an upstairs window.

"You two get the kids, I'll grab Jenny!" The three of us sprint to the house, Sam and Dean violently slamming against the front door until it gives way and allows us inside.

"I'll get the baby," I call out, remembering seeing his room on the way upstairs to Sairie's earlier today. I run upstairs with the boys hot on my heels, needing only to picture Lilly as the baby in trouble to give me the extra boost of energy needed to kick Ritchie's door in. The baby was screaming in his bed, looking up at me fearfully as it continued to jerk and shake. "Come here, sweetie," I say in a forced calm tone, knowing that panic would only make him more afraid. I pick him up, holding him tightly as I sprint back downstairs and outside where Dean and Jenny are waiting.

"Liza," Dean shouts as I hand Ritchie off to his mom. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." We all look back at the house, waiting for Sam and Sairie to come out, but after a few minutes, only Sairie runs out to us. "Oh God…." I don't wait for the little girl's explanation, I begin to sprint again, barely making it into the house before the door slammed shut behind me. "Sammy," I shout as loudly as I can.

"Liza," he shouts back and I sprint again towards the sound. I don't get far, feeling something kick my feet out from under me and drag me into the kitchen, letting go with enough force that I continue to slide until my side connects with the wall. I grunt at the hard impact, forced to watch as Sammy is picked up and thrown across the room before the Poltergeist focuses on me again and throws me against the refrigerator hard enough to cut open my head. Sam is able to stand, but the Poltergeist pins him against the wall just as it pins me in place on the floor. I can't move, it feels like I have about six elephants sitting on me.

Just when I thought it couldn't be worse, a figure consumed in flames decides we need company and begins walking into the kitchen. I struggle harder than I ever have, letting out a scream of frustration when I can do little more than wiggle my toes. "Sam," I hear Dean shouting from somewhere in the house," Liza?!" And then he comes into view, wielding a sawed-off shotgun and an ax. He raises the shotgun, prepared to shoot the ghost.

"No, don't," Sam protests quickly," don't!"

"What? Why?"

"Yeah," I add angrily," why?"

"Because I know who it is," Sam answers. "I can see her now." We all stare at the figure, watching as the flames begin to form a real person, and that person turns out to be none other than Mary Winchester. Oh, sweet Jesus, is this a freaking soap opera? She gives her boys a sweet smile, Dean lowering the shot gun with a shaking hand. I watch her with wide eyes, the pretty blonde woman from all those pictures now standing in front of me.

"Mom," Dean asks, close to tears. She move closer to him, her smile widening as she looks her son over.

"Dean," she greets. She moves over to Sammy now, still so calm despite the fact that her youngest kid is trapped against a wall by a Poltergeist. "Sam." She looks down at me, her head tilted slightly as she studies me. "Elizabeth." I can feel the tears stinging my eyes, a selfish part of me wishing I could see my own mom just once. Mary's expression changes to one of extreme sadness when she looks back at Sammy. "I'm sorry."

"For what," Sam asks, his voice hoarse as the tears start. She doesn't say anything, walking with the strange movements of ghosts to the middle of the room, staring up at the ceiling.

"You get out of my house. And let go of my kids." She goes up in flames again, her hair flying wildly until it's consumed, too. She burns brightly, the flames shooting up and disappearing into the ceiling, and Mary disappearing with them. A second after that, Sam and me are let go, my body going forward from how hard I've been straining against the hold.

"Mom," Dean asks, voice barely more than a whisper as he looks around for her. I roll onto my back, staring up at the ceiling where Mary had vanished into, a sense of peacefulness washes over the house.

" _Now_  it's over," Same says, gasping.

**THE NEXT MORNING….**

I lean against the Impala, watching Dean as he looks through old pictures that Jenny had found in the basement of the house. "Thanks for these," he says to Jenny, pausing on a picture of a little Dean holding an infant Sammy.

"Don't thank me," Jenny smiles," they're yours." He nods, letting me take the picture of him, Sammy, Dana, and I situated in front my old house before he drops the rest into the box Jenny had found them in and placing that box in the trunk. I let out a little sniffle, staring down at the picture. It's the only picture I have of my big sister, she hated having her picture taken and had destroyed most of them when we got older.

"Sam, you ready?" Sam looks up from his spot on the porch steps next to Missouri. "Bye." Jenny gives us both smiles, patting Dean's arm before walking back to her house. "Liza…"

"Yeah," I ask, looking up at him from stuffing the picture in my favorite book for safety. He flounders for a moment, trying to find whatever words he wants to say and failing.

"Ah, it's nothing, I'll tell you later."

"Don't you kids be strangers," Missouri calls out as all three of us prepare to open the car doors.

"We won't." Missouri looks unconvinced, but lets it go.

"See you around." I give her a smile and a nod before taking up my spot in the car, resting my head on my arms on the back of the front seat so I can talk to Sam and Dean easier. Dean pulls away from the curb, and we drive into the metaphorical sunset. Time for some sleep and hopefully sweet dreams.

_When I want you in my arms/when I want you and all your charms/whenever I want you/all I have to do is dream/dream/dream/dream/when I feel blue in the night/and I need you to hold me tight/whenever I want you/all I have to do is dream_


	31. ASYLUM

I walk out of the bathroom, toweling my hair dry and plopping down on the bed opposite Sam. "I love the guy," Dean says as he flips through John's journal," but I swear, he writes like friggin' Yoda." Ain't that the truth, it's like the code John lives by includes making sure no one apart from him can decipher his damn journal without guidance.

"Maybe we should call the feds," Sam suggests," file a missing person's."

"Yes," I say sarcastically as I sit up and throw the towel at Sammy," because that's how we want to face John again after all this time, when he's ready to bend us over his knee and swat the hell out of us. Seriously, though, let's not to that."

"I don't care."

"You will care when your daddy busts your ass like he did when you were little." Dean rises from his chair when his phone begins to ring, digging through his pile of clothes while Sam continues trying to make his point.

"After everything that happened in Kansas—you said it yourself, Dean, he should've been there."

"I know," Dean grumbles. "Where the hell is my cell phone?"

"You know, he could be dead for all we know." I lean over to help search, Dean straightening and fixing Sam with a no bullshit stare.

"Don't say that. He's not dead—h-he's—"

"He's what? He's hiding?"

"Sam," I snap, growing fed up with all of his damn theories," that's enough for tonight, don't you think?" Dean finally digs his phone out, flipping it open to stop the ringing. "What is it?" Dean sits on the edge of the bed, staring down on his phone. "Don't hog information." I get up on my knees, looking down over his shoulder to see what captured his interest. There were two numbers on the screen, the text not really making much sense to me.

"It's coordinates," Dean reveals to his brother. Dean moves over to the little table, opening Sam's laptop and typing in the coordinates.

"You think Dad was texting us," Sam asks in disbelief.

"He's given us coordinates before." Dean shrugs, not looking away from the computer despite the looks Sam and I send his way.

"The man can barely work a toaster, Dean." The sad part is how true that fact is—the man screams every time the toast pops out and I'm the one that has to explain that all was well and it wasn't enemy fire since Sam always beat me at rock, paper, scissors.

"Sam, this is good news. It means he's okay, or alive, at least."

"Or it's not John," I point out from my spot on the bed," last I talked to him, he was just figuring out that he could play pool on the damn phone. Did a number show up that we can Google?"

"No, it said unknown." Dean turns back to the laptop, typing away at the keys.

"Where do the coordinates point," Sam asks as I dump Dean's clothes back in his bag and stand up.

"That's the interesting part—Rockford, Illinois."

"Am I missing something," I ask, leaning over Dean's shoulder again to see the computer screen. He shivers a little, leaning further towards the computer so that my boobs aren't touching him. I roll my eyes, knowing that most of the men I know—Zane included—have one track minds and Dean wouldn't be able to focus on the results with my boobs touching his back. What a big baby. "What's so interesting about a place I've never even heard off?"

"I checked the local Rockford paper. Take a look at this." He turns the computer so that Sammy can see, and I have to put on my glasses in order to make any of the words out. Once I have them in place, Dean clicks on a picture of a cop in the article, enlarging it so I can make out a moderately attractive man that looked like he could have Italian heritage. "He's a cop, Walter Kelly. Comes home from his shift, shoots his wife, then puts the gun in his mouth, blows his brains out. Earlier that night, Kelly and his partner responded to a call at the Roosevelt Asylum." Dean grabs John's journal again, flipping through it while Sammy begins to speak.

"Okay, I'm not following. What does this have to do with us?"

"Dad earmarked the same asylum in the journal. Let's see... Here." He stops, pointing to the page with a newspaper clipping glued to it. "Seven unconfirmed sightings, two deaths—till last week, at least—I think this is where he wants us to go." I let out a groan, flopping back down on the bed while Sam begins to pace. I'm so tired and this was supposed to be a short break so I could go visit my niece. Do these guys know how excited that baby is that I'll be coming home? Oh well, I can't let the two boneheads do a job by themselves, they'd kill each other.

"This is a job. Dad wants us to work a job."

"Thanks, Sammy," I remark as I scoot up the bed to lean back against the headboard," I hadn't quite figured that out yet."

"Maybe we'll meet up with him," Dean offers optimistically," maybe he's there."

"Maybe he's not, though. It could be like that time he sent you to deal with that Wendigo."

"Who cares? If he wants us there, then it's good enough for me." He shuts the laptop and stands up with the journal still in his hand.

"This doesn't strike you as weird," Sam questions," the texting, the coordinates?"

"Guys, Dad's telling us to go somewhere, we're going." He disappears into the bathroom, leaving Sammy and I to stare at the closed door with twin expressions of disbelief.

"I guess I should pull on some pants then," I sigh, digging through my bag beside the bed until I find a pair of clean pants and shimmy into them, throwing my jacket on over my camisole, and shoving my feet into my boots. After a moment, Sam moves around the room, gathering his things and tossing me the occasional sock to shove in my bag. This is going to be a long ass drive and I'm not looking forward to calling Tanya and explaining that I couldn't make it this weekend.

* * *

"You're Daniel Gunderson, right—the cop," Dean asks the African American guy sitting at the bar. We came up with this plan before walking inside the place, Dean supposed to rile the guy up so that Sammy can come to the rescue and shoo Dean and I off. It hasn't failed us before, so hopefully it'll work this time too. I loop my arm through Dean's, giving the beaten down cop a smile as I sway faux-drunkenly.

"Yeah," the man answers suspiciously. Dean gives a little laugh, sitting uninvited across from the cop and pulling me down to sit on his lap.

"I'm Nigel Tufnel with the  _Chicago Tribune_ , this is Cassidy Banks—she's my photographer." I snap a picture of the guy for affect, giggling as Dean wraps his arms around my waist. "Do you mind if I as a couple of questions about your partner?"

"Yeah, I do. I'm just trying to have a beer here." He's been antagonized about this before, the quick way he grew irritated gave it away.

"It won't take that long. I just want to hear the story in your words."

"A week ago, my partner was sitting in that chair. And now he's dead. Are you gonna ambush me here?"

"Come on, Nigel, maybe we should come by later," I suggest, making sure to slur my words a little to add to my drunken cover.

"No way," Dean protests, leaning forward to look in the other man's eyes," I have a deadline and you'd really be helping me out here." That was the signal, Sam rising from his spot near the back and approaching quickly, giving me enough time to stumble off Dean's lap.

"Hey, buddy," he snaps, man-handling Dean out of the chair and pushing him a few feet away. "How about leaving the poor guy alone, huh? The man's an officer, why don't you show him some respect?" Dean gives him the customary stare-down, before taking my hand and walking out with a scoff, looking a little too realistic for it all to be a ploy. He knows Sam's push was a little over the top and that made the older brother in him want to push back, but he held back and stuck to the role of cowardly reporter.

"You okay," I ask as we exit the bar, my walk returning to normal and my words no longer slurred. When Sam pushed him, his back had hit one of the support beams and I know it had to have hurt at least a little. He shrugs the question off, sitting on the hood of the Impala and pulling me up to sit beside him, the butt of my sweats growing wet from the droplets of water residing on the hood from the rain earlier. "You guys need to talk things out," I say after a moment of silence," if you don't, y'all will just explode later and it won't be pretty."

"Nah, we just need to get this case over with and find Dad."

"That's another thing, why can he text you, but he draws the line at calling so we know it's actually him? I'm sorry, Dean, but your old man is beginning to piss me off."

"I know, Liza. Trust me, I have the same thoughts as you, but he's...There has to be a good explanation and he'll tell it to us when we find him." Yeah, or he's just being the biggest dick on the planet again. If that was an award, he'd have it in the bag. We fall into silence, comfortable and familiar, and I rest my head on his leather-clad shoulder, breathing in the smell of his aftershave. Sam exits the bar a few minutes later, looking around for a second before spotting us and heading over. "You shoved me kinda hard in there, buddy boy." Sam shrugs with a relaxed smile, though he still looks kind of tense.

"I had to sell it, didn't I," he asks. "It's method acting."

"Is that what they're calling it these days," I ask, shooting Sam a look that warned him to cut it out with the attitude. I slide off the hood with some help from Dean, the three of us moving to stand by our respective car doors, Dean and I on the driver's side and Sammy on the passenger's side. "So, did you get anything good from the cop or did I waste my talent playing a drunk photographer?"

"Nah, you did great, Liza."

"Sarcasm noted." Sam gives me a playful wink before continuing.

"Apparently Walter Kelly was a good cop. Head of his class, even-keeled—he had a bright future ahead of him." Sam clasps his hands together, resting them on top of the car. Lucky, I'm too short to do that. Hell, I can barely rest my chin on top of the car—I'm an Oompa Loompa compared to these jackasses. "Home wasn't much of a different story. He and his wife fought a little, just like all couples. It was mostly smooth sailing. They were even talking about having kids."

"So either Kelly had some deep-seated crazy waiting to bust out or something else did it to him," Dean guesses with a nod.

"Yeah, I have a feeling that he wasn't a closet serial killer," I say, standing up on the tips of my toes to see Sam a little better, not to mention make myself feel taller. "The question is, what caused him to go wacko and do a murder-suicide and did it have something to do with that asylum? Did whats-his-face give you any info about it?"

"A lot," Sam states with a little huff of laughter.

 


	32. 32

I follow the boys over the chain-link fence surrounding the old asylum, flipping over the top and barely managing to land on my feet, Dean having to steady me so that I don't fall on my ass. "How do you do that so gracefully," I ask, referring to how easy he made getting over look.

"Because I dated a cheerleader for two weeks and she taught me a few things," he says with a smile, wrapping an arm around my waist as we follow Sammy inside the old building. The gray stone exterior is covered in random bits of graffiti, some of it gang signs, but most of it people's names or quotes. All of it was done in bright colors, the style unique to each person and really cool to look at. The inside isn't much different in regards to graffiti, but the musty smell hanging around is enough to make me pinch my nose so I won't have to smell it. The walls have splotches of mold and water damage, the few bits of furniture left are overturned and broken. It looks like your average haunted house, no wonder the kids are curious about it. Beer bottles, cans, and cigarette butts are scattered over the floor, an obvious sign that this is where kids go to party or freak each other out.

"So, apparently, the cops chased the kids here," Sam informs us as we look around the spacious front room. "Into the South Wing." I follow where he was pointing, finding a door with iron reinforcements over the windows and a broken chain in front of it on the floor. Obviously someone wanted to keep people out of that part of the building badly enough that they chained it shut.

"South Wing, huh?" Dean pulls out John's journal, flipping through it and mumbling to himself. I stuff my hands into the back pockets of my jeans, wandering a few feet away from the guys and into some sunshine streaming in past the ratty white cloth hanging in front of one of the windows set high above my head. The light is irritating, as it usually is, making my skin itch a little. Uncle Bobby used to joke that I was allergic to the sun, but I could always see the worry in his eyes when I joined in and said I was a vampire. I still don't know why, everybody knows that vampires are about as real as unicorns. "Nineteen Seventy-two—three kids broke into the South Wing." Dean's voice brings me back to the present, and I turn so that the sunlight hits my back as I stare at the two brothers. "Only one survived. The way he tells it, one of his friends went nuts and started lighting up the place." Dean looks up from the book, his gaze landing on Sam and I.

"Maybe that's what this place does," I suggest," it held the looney people, now that all of them are dead, it turns people who come in here into head-cases." I walk over to the doors, picking up the rusty chain and spotting where it had been cut through to allow access to the intruders. I hold it up for the guys to examine. "Whoever went through those doors didn't have a key and I bet they let somethin' nasty out."

"Since this seems like the room most people party in, why aren't there more deaths," Sam asks. gesturing around us at the mess.

"Because they weren't partying in the South Wing." I shrug, pushing on the door and watching as it slowly creaked open before looking at the boys over my shoulder. "Anybody else feeling the urge to call Ghostbusters?"

"Who ya gonna call," Dean asks with a grin.

"Us usually."

"And you two call me a nerd," Sam grumbles, nudging me out of his way so he could go through the doors first. "What else does this reminds you of, Liza? I know you want to say it."

"House on Haunted Hill. Maybe we'll run into Vincent Price or Geoffrey Rush." I hip bump Sam once catching up with him, bringing my phone out to snap a few pictures of the creepy place. The walls of this wing are barren of graffiti, plain white and stained from years of water dripping in from the ceiling. There's less debris here, too, mostly just old hospital equipment, including a wheelchair that's lying on its side in the middle of the hallway.

"Let me know if you see any dead people, Haley Joel," Dean jokes, trying to get a laugh from Sam, but he only succeeds in irritating him.

"Dude," Sam states," enough." Dean laughs all the same, the typical big brother as he picks on Sammy.

"No, I'm serious. You've got to be careful, alright? Ghosts are attracted to that whole ESP thing you got." He looks back down at the EMF detector, missing the annoyed look Sam and I send his way.

"Would you drop the ESP bull? It's just plain dumb," I tell Dean, smacking his shoulder. How do I always manage to get between these two while walking? It makes me feel like I'm part of one big sandwich or something. I stare up at the ceiling as we continue to walk, wondering how high the chance was of it collapsing on itself and burying us in rubble. If that happens, then I'm haunting this place—I'll move furniture, slam doors, the usual Casper shit to make teens wet their pants and run right out of here. "Is the EMF getting anything or is it a dead end?"

"Zip so far, but that doesn't mean the ghosts aren't sleeping the murder off somewhere around here."

"Some spirits can't appear during certain hours of the day," Sam adds.

"The freaks come out at night."

"Well, that certainly explains why you're so active during the nocturnal hours," I quip dryly, laughing when Dean bops me on the head with the EMF's antenna. "Ah, did I hurt that fragile manly pride of yours, Dean-bean?" With another laugh, I skip a few feet ahead, looking back at the guys over my shoulder. "Don't look so put out."

"Maybe I wouldn't look like it if you'd put out a little something, Blondie."

"Oh, whoa," Sammy interjects loudly, raising his hands," hold it, save the nasty talk for when I don't have to hear it. I'd rather not have to pour bleach in my ears, thanks."

"Ah," I mock, turning to walk backwards," ickle Sammy-kins can't handle grown-up talk?"

"Not when it concerns the two people I consider siblings." He grabs the back of my shirt, continuing to hold it as he walks faster than I can keep up, the heels of my boots dragging against the dusty floor.

"Ya know, this wasn't funny when we were kids and it sure as shit ain't funny now."

"Ah, is he hurting that fragile girly pride of yours, Liza," Deans smirks, talking his opportunity to mock me.

"Do these look like they belong to a girl?" I point to my boobs, poking them a little to make sure he got the message. Sure, they're barely larger than a B, but they're certainly bigger than they were when I was in high school. Dean's smirk turns into an all out grin and he gives me an eyebrow waggle, biting his lower lip in a way that had me wishing this place was a little more sterile and Sammy wasn't so close by. Dean knew it too, that's why the asshole did it. "You're a dick, Winchester."

"That's why you love me, baby." I don't respond to that, continuing to poke my boobs and watching them jiggle as Sammy drags me through the halls. We peek in a few rooms along the way, but most are the rooms where the patients were kept, the padded walls a dark yellow color, but one room is enough to warrant attention—it's one of the biggest we've found so far with tons of junk scattered on tabletops or stuffed in the back corners. Weird body parts are submerged in murky green liquid inside jars as big as my head. Curious, I stand completely and Sam releases the back of my shirt as I walk over to one table, poking at the body of a decapitated baby doll. "Electroshock, lobotomies; they did some twisted stuff to these people, kind of like my man Jack in _Cuckoo's Nest_." I snort at Dean's comparison, shaking my head and staring at him through the liquid in one jar. "What, you got somethin' better?"

"You mean besides the guy that ran this place being a regular Doctor Vannacutt? Nah, I'm good." I move on towards the chair Dean's standing by, noting the straps on the armrests to keep the people occupying the chair in place. "I feel bad for the people that went here." I run a hand over the back of the chair, trying not to imagine all the horrors that took place.

"What do you guys think? Ghosts possessing people and forcing them to do their bidding?"

"Maybe," Sam murmurs," maybe it's more like Amityville or the Smurl haunting."

"Yeah," I acknowledge, wiping my hand off on my jeans," the spirits driving people to insanity." I point at Dean and interrupt him before he can say anything. "Do not compare these guys to Jack in  _The Shining_ —that wasn't a ghost doing the driving, it was the actual hotel. Kind of like the house in  _Rose Red_." He closes his mouth, pouting a little since I beat him to it. Sam's the one sending looks this time, giving me a long one and then nodding in his brother's direction. I shake my head, holding up my hands and walking out. I ain't about to bring up the fact that old man Winchester isn't here, Sammy can have that honor and I'll have another look around. the rest of the place isn't much different from what I've already seen, old medical equipment mixed with weird things that people had brought in over time are scattered everywhere. I pause in one room, bending down to pick up a rusty scalpel, turning the dull blade over in my hand.

" _Ellicott_ ," a voice hisses from behind me.

"Very funny, Dean. I just don't what to do with myself." I turn with a dry smile, expecting to find my friend behind me, but there's only empty air. Shivering from the sudden cold, I follow the sage wisdom of Jason Hawes: 'when in doubt, get the hell out', but just as I got back to the door of the room, it slams shut and refuses to open. "Dean," I shout, beating against the metal door," Sammy! Get me out of this fucking room!" I kick it hard, not hearing any footsteps until something spins me around and pins me against the wall. There's nothing there, just more air, but I can see the indents of fingers gripping my arms through my jacket. "Someone, get in here now!" My voice has gone shrill and I struggle hard to break free, but the grip is unrelenting.

" _Ellicott, Ellicott, Ellicott!"_ I squeeze my eyes shut, the awful smell of death making my stomach churn. " _Ellicott!"_ And then the door of the room was banging open, slamming against the wall just beside my head as Dean and Sam barge in, looking ready for a fight. Sam is the first to spot me, supporting me as my knees give out and my breathing returns to normal.

"What happened, Liza," Sam asks gently, turning my head from side to side so he can assess if I was injured.

"I'm not entirely sure," I respond breathlessly, able to stand by myself now. "I found a scalpel and then the door was slamming shut and a voice was hissing at me. It was all really funky. What about you guys? Find anything of interest?"

"Yeah," Dean nods," a name to research."

"Does this name happen to be Ellicott?" Sam and Dean share a look before nodding in unison. "I was afraid that was the answer." Fully tired of this creepy place, I throw the scalpel down and make my grand exit, leaving the boys to follow behind back to the Impala. This place can bite me.

 


	33. 33

**I know it's been a while, but I got distracted by my Once Upon a Time fic, but I'm back for now with more sass and sarcasm! Review and tell me what you guys like or don't like! To make up for the long wait, I've put some Liza/Dean fluff in this chapter right off the bat. :)**

The longer we stand outside the Creekview Medical Center, the happier I am that I grabbed my hoodie at the last minute, the soft material helping to keep the cold air at bay. It'd started raining not long after we left the asylum yesterday and it's just now winding down to a light sprinkle, but the wind is what's keeping it really cold outside. "Man," Dean groans irritably, leaning his back against the brick building," what's taking him so long? I mean, it's not like he can actually talk about anything in there—killing monsters, battling evil, killer ghosts."

"Maybe the shrink is trying to worm his deepest darkest secret out of him," I shrug with a smile, moving closer to Dean for his warmth. He must notice me shivering, because he wraps an arm around my shoulders and pulls me closer to him, rubbing my back to work some warmth back into me. With a sigh, I grasp the front of his jacket loosely, enjoying the smell of old leather and whiskey that always seems to surround him—not to mention the great cologne that rests just under the surface. The combination of the three is enough to leave me dizzy.

"Yeah, well, if that happens, then Sammy'll be locked up faster than that cop in Oklahoma that tried to kill you." I shiver at the mention of Clarke, one of my hands leaving Dean's jacket to rub my throat. Sometimes I could still feel the leather of Clarke's belt digging into the soft flesh of my neck and cutting off my air. Dean must notice the gesture because I can feel him tensing under my cheek. "Are you still having nightmares?"

"Every now and then, but they're nothing I can't handle." Dean's hold on me tightens slightly, a protective gesture that has a small smile playing on my lips. "Don't worry, I've got it under control."

"I just... You can talk to me if you need to, you know that right?" I nod, looking up at him the best I can so close to him. "And I'm not just saying that, we'll go somewhere quiet and you can spill it all, but you  _don't_ have to do this by yourself." I don't say anything, rising up on my toes to place a soft 'thank you' kiss on his lips. He responds immediately, kissing me back with an ardor that only Dean Winchester is capable of without shoving his tongue down my throat. When he pulls back, we're both breathing hard and our lips already beginning to swell, but before either of us could say anything else, Sammy boy walks out of the center without even noticing us, continuing to walk towards the Impala. "About time," Dean calls out to get his brother's attention, both of us struggling a little to catch up with the long-legged man. "What the hell were you two talking about?"

"The hospital," Sam shrugs, continuing to walk," and I found out what happened to give the South Wing such a bad reputation." He gives a dramatic pause, smirking down at me when I let out an impatient noise. "The South Wing is where all the real whackadoos were kept, you know—the psychopaths, the criminally insane, hard-cases. Well, in '64 they rioted, attacked the staff and attacked each other, it gave new meaning to the word madhouse."

"Sounds like a real party," I comment, stuffing my hands inside my hoodie pouch. "So, how many deaths were there and does Dean owe me twenty dollars?"

"There were a lot and he does." Dean scowls, handing over the twenty and giving his brother a mean-spirited look. My theory about what happened was the closest, so I'm the one that gets the money this time. "The deaths were from both sides, patients and staff, and here's the real kicker: not all of the bodies were found and the cops searches every nook and cranny of the place."

"Oh, so we might have our vengeful spirits after all. Was Ellicott one of 'em?"

"He was. After that happened, the surviving patients were transferred, the staff paid off to keep quiet, and the hospital was shut down for good."

"Sounds like our kind of thing after all, doesn't it," Dean asks smugly. "Let's check it out tonight and see if any of those ghosts come out to play." I let out a shaky breath, knowing damn well they do since one had me trapped in a cell. Shaking the memory away, I get in the car and relax in the back seat, pulling my pistol closer to me in a way to keep my grip on reality. I can't let bad memories get to me, not when we might have a lot of bodies to be burning soon.

* * *

I follow behind the guys as we walk through the doors of the South Wing, on high alert for any unusual noises that could signal an on-coming attack. It's even colder tonight than it was this afternoon, so I've pulled on a leather jacket over my multi-colored hoodie, content enough in the fact that I won't get frostbite. Dean and Sam break out the tech stuff, Sam holding a small camcorder to try and catch the spooks we might not be able to see under normal circumstances and Dean mans the EMF detector while I pull out the small digital camera I brought to snap photos in case Sammy's camcorder misses things. "Can this place get any more cliche," I ask no one in particular as we walk through the halls," I mean, this is right out of a Stephen King book."

"I hear ya," Sam responds, making sure I was still behind him and Dean as we walk. I snap pictures occasionally, the steady whine of the EMF beginning to get on my nerves. The little lights on the top are all red, signalling that we have high ghost activity in this place. I snap another picture, pale white orbs the size of my head showing up on the review screen. "Getting readings?"

"Yeah," Dean replies," big time."

"This place is orbing like crazy. What have you got, Liza?"

"Same as you, big man," I answer," orbs everywhere, but no Casper just yet. Y'all think it's the bodies that are stashed somewhere around here?"

"Uh, yeah," Dean nods with sarcasm dripping from his words. "What else could it be?"

"Mm, I don't know, the ghost of your humor?" With a smug smile, I walk past the boys and continue on down the hall, the musty smell making my nose crinkle. Asylums give off creepy vibes anyway, but haunted ones are so much worse. I just hope Richard Trager doesn't show up to announce that I've won a free lobotomy. Shaking the thoughts away, I continue making my way through the old place, avoiding the trash littered on the ground and the old mattresses randomly spread throughout the place, left in a haphazard manner against walls and in the middle of the floor. Doors line the hallway, some open, but a lot of them shut and locked. I can see through the little windows placed at head height that most of them are padded cells, the walls of them turning yellow with age. I raise my camera when I reach one of them, snapping another picture and looking down to review whether it needed to be kept or tossed out.

Almost everything in the picture is what I'd expected, the padded room and the orbs the norm at this point, but what I didn't expect to find was a little girl standing in the middle of the room, her hair falling limply down her back and partially obscuring her face, but it doesn't hide the bright blood that stains the front of her nightgown. I look up from the picture and back through the window, able to see the little girl now that she's letting me. The little girl tilts her head to the side when she spots me, the only hand she has clutching the leg of a moldy teddy bear. Sadness makes my heart clench, the girl is Lilly's age, or close enough to it that the maternal nature in me begs me to open the door and take the child in my arms. The little girl opens her mouth, trying to say something, but the words seem to get stuck in her throat. When I focused solely on her mouth, I could see the word she was determined to say. "Mama."

"Oh God," I gasp, moving to cover my mouth with my hand. Why would someone so little be stuck in a place like this? Knowing that a spirit, no matter the age, could easily kill me, I send her an apologetic look and continue on my way. We have to help the poor baby, we have to salt and burn her little body and send her on her way. Hopefully she'll go to a better place than this one. I keep walking until I hear panicked shouting coming from somewhere behind me, the voice belonging to Sammy. I realize who the voice belongs to after I begin sprinting in the direction of the shouts, not stopping to consider that it could be a trick. I find both boys in one of the more spacious visiting rooms, the pair looking bewildered, but no worse for wear. "Are you guys okay?"

"We're okay," Sam confirms, him and Dean joining me in the doorway," but I just went through what you did yesterday."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah, except I could see the ghost and it didn't try to attack me."

"Mine didn't try to either, it just kept whispering the doctor's name." We were passing another doorway when a sound catches our attention. Now, being in this place so long, it was easy to identify sounds that didn't belong, and this sound, whatever it was, most definitely didn't belong. Sam turns on his flashlight, pointing it at the bed that's been flipped onto its side, Dean raising the sawed-off, and I raise my camera. Carefully, the three of us walk into the room and over to the bed, easily spotting the back of a hunched over person. Dean motions with the gun for Sammy to move the bed and for me to stand behind him, the stern expression on his face telling me not to argue. Sam waits for me to move before he grabs one end of the bed, sliding it back and making the figure hiding behind it jump with a squeak of fear, turning to face us with her back pressed against the wall. "Oh, this one's not dead." Dean lowers the gun and smacks my arm with a scowl before focusing on the teenager.

"It's alright," he promises," we're not gonna hurt you. It's okay." She stands up slowly, looking about ready to pee her pants. "What's your name?"

"Katherine," she answers in a shaky voice," Kat."

"Okay, I'm Dean, this is Sam and Elizabeth." I give her a wave and a reassuring smile.

"What are you doing here," Sam asks in a disapproving tone.

"Um," she starts, still shaking and looking at us like we're mass murderers," my boyfriend, Gavin—"

"Is he here," Dean interrupts.

"Somewhere. He thought it would be fun, try and see some ghosts. I thought it was all just... You know... Pretend. I've seen things. I heard Gavin scream, and—" I move over to her, wrapping her in a gentle hug to try and calm her down.

"Okay, sweetie, first things first, your boyfriend is a dumbass for dragging you in here," I inform her in a soft voice. "And the second thing we're gonna do is get you out of here and then go find said dumbass." I try to get her to move with me, but she steps away from me with wide eyes.

"No, no. I'm not gonna leave without Gavin. I'm coming with you." I look at Dean over Kat's shoulder, raising my brows as I wait for him to explain that she could get thrown through a freaking wall and it still wouldn't be the worst thing that could happen in this place.

"This isn't a joke, alright," Dean says seriously," this is dangerous and you could get killed."

"I know, that's why I have to find Gavin."

"Alright, I guess we're splitting up." Why is that always a suggestion? Wouldn't it be smarter to search as one big group so we don't get snuck up on? "Sam, you and Liza get to searching down the way we just came from, and Kat and me'll go the other way."

"No problem, Captain Kirk," I shrug, looping my arm with Sammy's and dragging him out of the room.

 


	34. 34

"A little girl, huh," Sammy asks as we walk through the halls, shining the beam of his flashlight ahead of us so we can see where it's safest to step.

"Yeah," I nod, hands stuffed in the pockets of my jacket," she couldn't have been more than four or five. She had one arm." I shiver at the memory, desperately wanting to dial Tanya's number and check on Lilly, just for my own peace of mind. Sensing my inner turmoil, Sam reached out and gives my shoulder a comforting pat. "I'm so calling Lilly when we get out of here, I want to hear her voice."

"Well, then, we'd better find this kid and get the hell out." I give a small smile as we turn another corner, the end of the hall stopping with a room. When we step inside, we find a teenage boy lying unconscious on the grimy floor. "That look like the description Kat gave us?" I raise Sammy's hand a little so that the flashlight was focused on the unconscious teen.

"Good enough for me. Can I kick him?"

"Not yet." Sam kneels on the ground beside the teenager and I stay in the doorway with his flashlight aimed at the pair, my free hand in my pocket and holding tightly to my phone. "Gavin?" Sam gives his shoulder a gentle shake. "Hey, Gavin." The boy's eyes open, sitting up the second his eyes land on Sam and me. "It's okay, it's okay. I'm here to help."

"I'm here to offer sarcasm." Gavin's eyes flick between the two of us, wide and filled with horrified curiosity. "Oh, don't look so scared, we're the good guys and you're a complete dumbass."

"Liza, let it go."

"Who are you guys," Gavin asks, his breathing still a little labored from his shock.

"I'm Elizabeth," I answer, leaning against the doorjamb," and that's Sam." Sam helps Gavin up, playing the part of calm and thoughtful buddy in order to calm the kid down.

"We found your girlfriend," Sam tells him.

"Kat," the kid asks," is she alright?"

"She's worried about you. Are you okay?" I roll my eyes, not really caring one way or another right now. Leaving Sam to baby the idiot, I spin on my heel and go stand out in the hallway. On its side in the middle of the hall is an old bed frame, the metal rusted from age and the water that leaks through the ceiling. It gives me something to kick while waiting anyway. I let out a bored sigh, growing bored with the bed frame and resting the flat of my boot against the dirty wall and looking up at the ceiling until a weird whispering sound gains my attention. Down the hall, flickering in and out as its strength wavers, is the ghost of a young woman. Her hair hangs freely down her back in curls, a few of the dark red strands matted to her head in places and the usual outfit the patients of this place wore modified to look slutty—the shorts cut and stopping mid-thigh, the bottom of the shirt tied into a knot to bare her midriff and the top few buttons undone to show her impressive cleavage. If I didn't know any better, I'd say that she was Shelly from American Horror Story.

"What's your name, sweetie," I ask, watching as she walks a few steps closer to me, her head tilting to the side. From that distance I can see that her eyes are swollen, the left one forced to stay closed, and there are burn marks covering most of her exposed flesh.

"Cam," she croaks, looking like it was difficult to speak at all as one of her hands move to her throat. "He did this. It wasn't the fire or riot."

"Ellicott." She nods, moving forward again until only a foot of space was between us. "We'll finish this and you'll be free to go wherever it is that ghosts go when they're done." She give a small smile, her pale lips cracked and bloody. She would've been beautiful had she still been alive and unbeaten, the skin on her upper arms smooth and tan despite the days she must have spent locked up in this place. Her eyes, what little of them I could make out in the darkness, are a dark gray color and she has delicate, elf-like features and could pass for a model on the streets. The woman raises a hand, gently tapping the tip of my nose with a faint giggle.

"You're pretty, not as pretty as me, but pretty." She shrugs, tapping one of my cheeks next. "I wish I could feel something other than pain..." I try to take a step back, but I'm already pressed against the wall and the look in Cam's eyes is unsettling. "I had a husband and a baby before this place ruined me. I was only put here because a vampire made me delirious after he took too much a blood, some bastard named Luther that kept rambling about making a new family and finding his daughter." She scoffs, a bitter smile on her lips. "I told my husband what happened and drove me here instead of to the cops. Can you believe that?" But I had stopped paying attention when she mentions the name Luther, it was one I heard a couple of times while growing up—Dad mentioned it to John when he thought I was asleep and Uncle B mentioned it in passing when he was drunk, apparently my mother had an affair with a man sharing that name before I was born. "Can I keep you?"

"You can back away." I sidestep, her only to trip over the bed frame and fall to the ground hard, the wind knocked out of me and my ankle throbbing. Cam giggles again, kneeling over me with a chilling grin.

"I want to feel again,  _sweetie_ , and you're the key to that. Just relax and it'll all be over soon."

And then everything faded away for a few minutes. I wake with a groan, wondering at first if I've gone blind before I remember where I am and what happened. If I find that bitch's body, I'm going to kick it before feeding the bones to the first dog I see. I roll onto my side, struggling against the ropes that are keeping my hands behind my back and the cloth stuffed in my mouth. Grumbling differing threats, I continue to wiggle until the slim blade I have stuffed in my back pocket is in my hand, using it to cut through the ropes and letting out a sigh of relief when the ropes give way, quickly spitting out the gag and making a noise of disgust. "You could've at least found a clean rag, you bitch," I shout, my voice echoing in the hospital. My wrists are red from where the ropes had rubbed them raw, but I push that pain to the back of my mind and get to my feet.

That bitch is walking around in this hospital with my face and I have a good idea of who she'll try and corner first.

* * *

Dean wasn't sure if he was seeing things right, almost positive that this place was making him hallucinate because he knew his Elizabeth would never be willing to do that in this dirty place. He blinks a couple of times as the blonde moves closer to him, her hips swaying, her jacket and hoodie missing with her top showing the tops of her breasts. The sight alone was enough to have his mouth watering, but she was singing in such a seductive tone that he was surprised when a cartoon wolf didn't pop up and start banging on a table with his fists. " _Now if you had prepared twenty years ago you wouldn't be a wandering now from door to door_ ," she sings with a strange little half-smile. " _Why don't you do right like some other men do_?" Even with all of the similarities to the Liza he knows, there was still something that didn't seem right, a darkness in her hazel eyes.

She's right up on him now, pressing her back to his front as she dances against him with one of her hands coming up to tangle her fingers in his short hair. He was tempted to kiss her, to feel her lips on his, but right about that time, the real Elizabeth rounded the corner and she looked livid. He lets out a sigh of relief, pushing the fake Liza away from him and watching with a proud grin as his Elizabeth brings up an iron pipe and smashes it against the other woman's face. The woman diminishes in a puff of smoke and a hissed growl, Elizabeth tossing the pipe aside and grabbing the front of Dean's shirt, pulling him down into a long, deep kiss before breaking away and breathing hard. Dean clears his throat, staring down at Liza with a goofy smile plastered on his face. "What was that for," he asks, voice a little higher than normal as he catches his breath.

"I didn't like her dry humping you," Liza replies gruffly, shivering from the cold. "If anyone's going to make you hard, it'll be me."

"Aw, you were jealous." Dean's goofy smile turns into a smug grin as he removes his jacket and wraps it around her shoulders to keep her warm. Elizabeth looks up at him, the smile on her lips making him uneasy as she presses him against the wall, her finger poking his chest.

"I don't get jealous, Winchester, I just know what I want." She goes up onto the tips of her toes, sucking and biting his bottom lip in such a way that had him following after her when she takes a step back. "Shall we go meet back up with our gentle giant?" Dean watches her walk away, her hips swaying in a way that's more familiar to him and had him groaning.

"That woman will be the death of me." Shaking his head, he trails after the blonde with his hands in his jacket pockets and a pleased smirk on his face. Not only is she beautiful, but she's a complete badass that takes no shit from anyone. Her hair was longer than usual, hanging in soft wave just past her shoulder blades. He liked it, loved having more than a handful to twine around his fingers, but he'd be happy with whatever she did with the blonde strands. "Hey, wait up." Liza pauses until he's back beside her with her hand held in one of his, their fingers intertwined. "I had Sammy trying to find a way to get those kids out and then I went and found Ellicott's office. He was one sick son of a bitch, too. Did all kinds of tests on the patients to see how they'd react to it, said it was therapy to try and calm them down, but it only made their tempers worse." He shakes his head, pointing the beam of his flashlight ahead of them so they didn't trip over anything.

"Sounds like a real bastard."

"He was and I think he's trying to perfect his technique on the people that wander into his territory." Liza lets out a soft sigh, not saying anything for a while as they walk through the twisting corridors of the asylum. "So, uh, what happened?"

"That ghost back there did some kind of...." She shakes her head, brow furrowed in frustration. "I don't know what it was exactly, but I passed out and when I woke up I knew she was wearing my face and I got pissed off." She shrugs, her lips pursed as Dean makes her stop walking and face him. "It brought back memories I've been trying to push down," she finally admits, meeting his gaze. Dean's never seen this woman break down since the funeral of her dog when she was nineteen, but there were tears in her eyes now and his first instinct was to wrap her up in a protective hug, her face snug against his chest. "The last time I was knocked out like that.... I woke up with Clarke ready to strangle me and I just got mad this time that it was happening all over again." He can hear her sniffle, can feel her arms wrapping around his waist as her shoulders begin to shake from crying. "I hate crying, it's so fucking messy!"

"I know, Liza, but you have to let it out sometime." Dean's voice takes on a soothing quality that only three people have ever heard—his mother, Sammy, and Liza. "It'll be okay, baby. Clarke is dead and you'll never have to see him again. Okay? I've got you." He tightens his hold on the woman, never wanting to let her go again if it means she's protected from every cruel thing in the world. He loved her, Goddammit, and he wants her safe! Is that too much to ask for? That the people he cares for most in this world be treated well and never be put in danger? He could feel tears stinging his eyes now and lowered him and Liza to the dusty floor, leaning against a wall with Elizabeth curled up in his arms. "I love you, Liza."

"I love you too," she sobs, her head buried in the crook of his neck. 


	35. 35

After composing themselves and nearly getting their heads blown off by an anxious teenager with a hell of an aim, Dean and Elizabeth were once more moving through the asylum in search of Sam. According to Kat, someone, who'd Sam identified as Dean himself, had called Sam's phone and asked for backup in the belly of the friggin' place. Now, as happy as Dean is that his brother would drop everything to run to his aid, he was pissed that some ghost pulled the trick in the first place. "Sammy," Dean calls out cautiously as he rounds another corner, Elizabeth right behind him in case backup is needed. "Sam, ya down here?"

"Sammy boy," Liza tries, and Dean feels as her fingers grip the back of his shirt in her nervousness. If Sam has been possessed or changed like those other guys, then they'd have a hell of a time fighting him without using their guns. "Come out, come out, wherever you are!" Dean jumps and Liza lets out a small squeak when Sam seems to appear out of nowhere, looking more pissed off than Dean's ever seen him before.

"Man! Answer us when we're calling you." Elizabeth doesn't seem to register Sam's anger at first, walking right up to the much taller person and smacking his chest hard with the flat of her palm.

"Stop being such an ass!" Then she forces Sam down into a hug, having to stand on her tiptoes in order to accomplish the act. "Are you okay, Sammy?" That's when the anger seems to fade away and he gains a complacent expression, wrapping his arms loosely around the blonde as he hugs her back.

"Yeah," Sam answers," I'm fine." He gently removes Elizabeth's arms from around his neck and takes a step back as Dean moves forward to stand beside the blonde. It didn't matter who she was around, Dean always felt the need to protect these two and he doubted it would fade over the years.

"You know it wasn't me who called your cell, right," Dean checks, giving his brother a quick once-over to make sure he was relatively unharmed.

"Yeah, I know. I think something lured me down here." Liza slips her hand in Dean's, looking up at him nervously. They both knew something wasn't right here, the ghosts wouldn't have lured Sam down here if they didn't want to use him for something. Could this be like what happened to Liza earlier? Is the real Sam stuffed in some room with a gag in his mouth or has Ellicott sunk his claws into him? Dean wasn't sure what to think, he just wanted to get this job done with so he could pack their shit up and head for Oklahoma where Lily was waiting for them. 

"And I think I know who—Doctor Ellicott. That's what the other spirits have been trying to tell us." Taking advantage of the momentary lapse in attacks, Dean returns his pistol to the back waistband of his pants while Liza returns hers to the brand new holster on her hip. "You haven't seen him, have you?"

"No," Sam shakes his head," how do you know it was him?" 

"'Cause Dean found his logbook," Liza explains," it had detailed explanations of what he put his patients through. It was disgusting, and makes Norman Bates look like a normal human being." Sam gives her a look, but Liza shrugs it off and continues. "In short, the patients rioted because they wanted to give Ellicott a taste of his own handy work. The guy was a massive dick, I can't say I blame them for ganking his ass."

"Yeah," Dean adds," he was trying to perfect some kind of extreme-rage therapy. He thought if he could get the patients to vent their anger, then they'd be cured of it."

"But it only made their anger worse, think the Hulk on steroids. So Dean and I were thinking —"

"His spirit is doing the same thing to whatever poor guy finds his way down here —like with the cop, the kids from the seventies —making them so angry that the smallest things pisses them off enough to send them into a homicidal rampage." Sam doesn't get the time to process the new information before Dean moves past him, still holding Liza's hand. "Come on, we gotta find his bones and torch him." That was the only thing Dean could think about right then, trying to deal with things one at a time. He'd finish with this town, move on to Oklahoma for some rest, talk with Liza to figure out what was going on, and then get back on the road after John. 

"How," Sam calls after the pair," the cops never found his body."

"He's got a hidden room down here somewhere," Elizabeth says, beating Dean to it with a smile. "I figure if we pull enough books off the shelves or move enough candles, then part of the wall'll move and we'll find our way inside. Just keep thinking positive." She taps her temple for emphasis. "We've watched enough cheesy movies and I doubt this guy is above hiding his lab like the good doctor in Young Frankenstein. And like I said earlier, the patients went to town on him and what better place to do that than in his secret lab?"

"I don't know. That sounds kind of —"

"What," Dean asks," crazy?"

"Yeah." Dean just shrugs, moving further down the hall until he reaches a rusted iron door, opening it up and shining his flashlight inside before deciding to risk it. Liza follows after him immediately, but Sam takes a bit longer, a sinister smile twisting his lips. The room they entered looked like a normal storage room with an old bookcase in the corner, covered in dust and holding a few jars of God only knows what. "I told you, I looked everywhere. I didn't find a hidden room," Sam says smugly when he joins them. 

"Well, that's why they call it hidden." Dean moves the flashlight around, trying to take in every small detail, but the grime covering every inch of the room made it difficult to see if there was a hidden door. And then he heard something, a faint whistling sound that made him pause and tilt his head.

"I don't know," Liza says," maybe Sammy's right. It's probably not —"

"You hear that?"

"What," Sam and Liza ask in unison as Dean turns his back to them. He walks a few feet over to the nearest wall, crouching down in front of it and finding a small gap in the foundation, allowing wind to whip around inside, but only barely. 

"There's a door here." Elizabeth take half a step forward, squinting in order to make out the gap and missing Sam as he raises the sawed-off shotgun until it was aiming at his brother.

"Dean," he says, voice sounding rough and unused. Dean turns to look at his brother over his shoulder, green eyes going wide when Sam wraps an arm around Elizabeth's neck and hauls her against his chest tightly. Sam's nose was bleeding, a steady stream, but he keeps the bitter smile in place. "Step back from the door." Dean straightens up, casting a glance at Liza —she was tugging at the burly arm around her throat, looking a little panicked, but she gives a slight shake of her head all the same. He wasn't hurting her yet, but it would be cake for him to snap her neck in that position. 

"Sam, let Elizabeth go and put the gun down."

"Is that an order?"

"It's more of a friendly request." 

"'Cause I'm getting pretty tired of taking your orders." He raises the gun higher, now aiming it at Dean's chest. Dean gives his brother a smirk, nodding his head a little and meeting Sammy's darkened eyes. 

"I knew it. Ellicott did something to you, didn't he?"

"For once in your life, shut your mouth."

"What are you gonna do, Sam? The gun's filled with rock salt. It's not gonna kill me." He'd barely gotten those words out when Sam squeezed the trigger, the rock salt rounds digging into Dean's chest and sending him flying through the door into the hidden room with a grunt. As if the minor wounds from the shotgun blast hadn't hurt enough, the impact of flying through a door made everything much worse. He could hear Elizabeth shout his name, but he could barely give a feeble moan in return before losing consciousness.

"No, but it'll hurt like hell."  


* * *

The next time Dean opened his eyes, he was still lying on top of the door, the pain feeling even worse now that it had time to settle in. "Sam," he gasps out as his brother appears over him," we gotta burn Ellicott's bones, and all this will be over, and you'll be back to normal." He looks around the room while he talks, catching sight of Liza with her back propped up against the far wall —she had a bleeding lip and looked more battered than she had earlier, but it was the fact that she appeared to be unconscious that had him worried.

"I am normal," Sam returns. "I'm just telling the truth for the first time." It was hard to focus on his brother's words when all Dean wanted to do was go back to sleep, at least there he couldn't feel the sharp pains in his body; his chest was burning, his head was throbbing, and the shallow cuts everywhere else seemed to be stinging worse than an angry wasp. "I mean, why are we even here? 'Cause you're following Dad's orders like a good little soldier? 'Cause you always do what he says without question?" Elizabeth lets out a soft moan, slowly raising her head and taking in the scene. "Are you that desperate for his approval?"

"This isn't you talking, Sam."

"That's the difference between you and me." He gestures to his head using the shotgun, looking down at Dean with a wild-eyed stare. "I have a mind of my own."

"That mind is gonna be blown away if you keep doing that," Liza states as loud as she can, getting shakily to her feet. 

"There's another thing, Dean." He points the shotgun at Liza now, speaking through clenched teeth. "You have to drag everyone you care about down with you because you can't stand to be alone. What do you think she could be doing if you hadn't talked her into coming along with you on this suicide mission? Huh, maybe playing with her niece or relaxing on her couch? I can promise you one thing, she wouldn't be here right now and she certainly wouldn't be wondering how long she'll live."

"So what are you gonna do," Dean asks," huh? Are you gonna kill us?"

"You know what, I am sick of doing what you tell me to do. We're no closer to finding Dad today than we were six months ago." Suddenly Liza was crashing into Sam, having thrown herself forward in an attempt to knock him off-balance, but she only succeeded in getting thrown down beside Dean.

"Hey! You don't hit women," he shouted at the same time Elizabeth shouted," Do it then, bitch!" She and Dean share a quick look before Dean pulls out his pistol, holding it up.

"Let me make it easier for you," he says, still having trouble focusing since it looked like there were two Sams. "Come on, take it. Real bullets are gonna work a hell of a lot better than rock salt. Take it!" Sam grabs it out of Dean's hand roughly, Dean arching slightly in pain as Sam throws the shotgun down. "You hate me that much," he asks, watching as Sam grips the pistol and holds it a foot away from Dean's face. He could see the conflict in Sam's eyes, the tears making them look shiny. "You think you can kill your own brother and your best friend? Then go ahead, but don't you lay another finger on Liza. Come on, Sammy, pull the trigger. Do it!" And Sam did it, but the Colt only made a  _click_  to show that the clip was empty. Sam tries it a few more times with the same result until Dean raised up and grabbed Sam's arm, the both of them wrestling on the floor while Liza scooted away to look for the bones. "Man," Dean says as he gets to his feet," I'm not gonna give you a loaded pistol." He delivers a hard punch to Sam's face, deciding to feel bad about it later.

"Dean," Liza calls out as Sam is knocked out," where would you hide the bones of the person you hate most in this world?"

"A toilet." He walks over to the blonde and helps her up, instantly noting the way she clutched at her ribs. "He got you good, huh?" 

"I got him worse." The two split up, each of them taking a different half of the room and deciding to meet in the middle. "After you passed out, I bit his arm hard enough to draw blood and then I kicked somewhere that even brings possessed people to their knees." Dean winces, the hand not holding the flashlight going to his crotch out of instinct. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I just got the shit beat out of me by my baby brother," he admits, pushing aside curtains to look into the little nooks off to the side. They go silent as they continue to search, the beam of Dean's flashlight finally landing on a white cabinet with a tuft of white hair sticking out. "Liza, I think I got it."

"A toilet?"

"Nah, but it works in a crises." He kneels down and pulls the doors open, the stench of rotten flesh hitting him seconds after he sees the moldering corpse and making him flinch back. "Oh, that's just gross." Elizabeth joins him, pinching her nose closed as she bends at the waist to examine the body.

"He looks kind of like jerky." Dean just shakes his head with a snort, moving back a few feet and digging through his duffle until he found the container of salt and lighter fluid. "I'll soak the bastard if you'll salt him."

"Deal." As they were working on the corpse, neither noticed the flashlights flickering before going out completely. Suddenly a gurney was speeding towards them, nailing Dean and sending him backwards as it continues forward and pins Liza against the wall. Dean didn't have time to worry about Liza for long before Ellicott was straddling his chest with his hands pressed firmly against Dean's temples, sending sharp stabs of electricity shooting through his skull. It was worse than any pain he's ever felt before, unable to do much more than gasp and whimper with the occasional scream tearing out of his throat.

"Don't be afraid," Ellicott tells him," I'm going to help you. "I'm going to make you all better." Dean stares up at the spirit, taking in its ashen flesh tone, the remaining eye's yellow hue, and the bloody mess that made up the left eye socket. He could hear the screeching protest of gurney wheels, Elizabeth's grunts of pain, and then saw a sudden burst of light on his right that nearly blinded him. Ellicott pulled back enough for Dean to squirm away, and that's when Dean realized that Liza had managed to force the gurney away and set Ellicott's body on fire. Unlike the other spirits Dean had sent to wherever ghost went, this one didn't mimic its body and burst into flames, this one appeared to be crumbling and fell face first to the floor, its head shattering like glass. Then, from somewhere behind him, he heard shuffling and turned to find Sam propped up on his arms and looking around in confusion.

"You're not gonna try and kill me, are you?"

"No," Sam answers softly.

"Good, 'cause that would be awkward."

"Can we just get out of here now," Liza asks from across the room, the cut above her eye bleeding heavily and soaking into her hoodie.   


* * *

It's late morning when they finally make it out of the asylum, having some trouble in remembering where they left Kat and Gavin. Liza didn't waste any time with farewells, just shouldering past Gavin and climbing into the back of the Impala. "Thanks, guys," Kat says awkwardly, her ex-boyfriend following suit. 

"No more haunted asylums, right," Dean checks, waiting for their nods before letting them walk back towards Gavin's car. He and Sam turn as well, Elizabeth already in the backseat and sound asleep, clutching the TARDIS blanket tightly to her chest. 

"Hey, Dean," Sam speaks up hesitantly. "I'm sorry, man. I said some awful things back there."

"You remember all that?" Dean wondered how much of it was just Ellicott's influence and how much was pure truth; the Liza part he knew was right, but he didn't know if he liked that his brother thought so poorly of him when Dean used to be Sammy's hero. 

"Yeah. It's like I couldn't control it, but I didn't mean it —any of it."

"You didn't, huh?"

"No, of course not." Dean gives him a nod, not really believing his brother. He couldn't blame him, Dean would probably feel the same way if their lives had been reversed. "Do we need to talk about this?"

"No, no." He throws the duffle bag through the window and in the back of the car, careful to avoid hitting Liza as he lets it drop to the floorboard. "I'm not really in the sharing and caring kind of mood. I just wanna get some sleep." He gets into the driver's seat and starts up the car, waiting for Sam to climb in as well before taking off. 

_Come as you are/as you was/as I want you to be/ As a friend/as a friend/as an old enemy/Take your time/hurry up/The choice is yours/don't be late/Take a rest/as a friend/as an old memory/_ _Come doused in mud/soaked in bleach/_ _As I want you to be/_ _As a trend, as a friend, as an old memory_


	36. SCARECROW

I groan as Dean shakes my shoulder, batting his hand away and snuggling under the cheap comforter. "Liza," he hisses at me, then asks in a normal tone," A demon? What's he saying?" My eyebrows scrunch together as I hear Sam continue speaking, slowly pushing myself up and turning to rest my back against the headboard, looking around the motel room in a state of half-sleep as Dean pulls on a shirt. Why the fuck was Dean waking me up this early?

"You know where it is," I hear Sam ask, and I slowly get to my feet and stretch. "Let us help." Smacking my lips a few times, I grab my bag and head into the bathroom for a shower, figuring the guys could catch me up on the way to get some coffee. I start the water so it can heat up while I pull off my tank top and panties, making sure to pee before I climb under the warm spray of water. The last thing I need is to get in the shower and then have to run to the toilet because the sound of the water made my bladder decide to shrink eight sizes in the space of a second. My body wash and hair stuff was already set up on the side of the tub from last night, but right now I just want to let the warm water work out the kinks in my shoulders and back. Sharing a bed was bad enough, but Dean liked to snuggle while I preferred for everyone to stay on their own damn side of the bed if it wasn't directly after sex; Sam's just as bad, except he's usually all over the damn bed.

"Liza, no time for fartin' around, we gotta hit the road."

"Winchester, you let me have my fucking shower or you'll be the one to regret it," I warn without looking up from where I've laid my forehead against the cool tiled wall. It's obvious that Dean took my warning to heart because I can hear the bathroom door shut and the sound of him pulling off his dirty clothes before he joins me in the shower. I know, sharing a shower with another person is usually awkward as hell and ends with an embarrassing fall, but Dean never tried anything except for washing my back. It was nice, especially since the water was too hot and I was growing dizzy.

"It was Dad on the phone; he gave us a new job." I nod, turning to face Dean with a washrag in hand to wash his chest. "He doesn't want us chasing after him anymore."

"Sammy pissed about it?" Dean snorts, brushing some of my wet hair over my shoulders.

"Beyond pissed," he murmurs, his lips brushing my neck with every word. I shiver from the contact, wrapping my arms around his waist and letting my fingers splay against his broad back. "Mm, we better get out before Sam kicks the door down."

"The fucker would, too." Dean nods, each of us helping the other wash before getting out and drying off. "Let's get this show on the road." I slap his ass and walk out of the bathroom with a grin, leaving Dean behind to pull on his shirt and chase after me. It was still dark outside when I joined Sammy in the car, shivering in the cool air that smelled of the rain to come. "Hey, Sammy," I yawn, covering up with my throw blanket that went everywhere with me. Sam grumbles a reply, turning the key in the ignition when Dean runs out and joins us. "So," I say after we've been driving in silence for a few hours," anybody else think John should've called around noon so we had a chance to sleep in?" Dean looks at me over his shoulder and Sam looks at me using the rear-view mirror, both expressions of incredulity. "Just trying to diffuse the tension." Because there was some tension, there always was when John is brought up in a conversation; Sam and Dean viewed him in completely different lights and I had to side with Sam that the guy was a shit dad.

"Onto more pressing matters," Sam says after a moment, his gaze returning to the road," those names Dad gave us are all couples, right?"

"Three different couples," Dean nods, looking down at the road map," all went missing."

"Anything that connects them to make John think it's a case," I ask, leaning forward to look out the windshield. "Towns, hobbies, porn preferences?"

"Yeah, each couple took a road trip cross-country and none of them arrived at their destination. None of them were ever heard from again."

"And do we have a hunch on where they might've been when they disappeared? Because this country is huge and I don't feel like visiting Little Rock again." Sam gives me a brief, questioning glance and I explain. "I have a warrant there after I set a trailer on fire seven years ago; it was the Fourth of July and I was drunk, but the cops didn't care."

"Don't worry, Liza, we're going to Indiana." I nod, taking advantage of a stop sign to climb up into the front seat, ignoring Dean's protests about what my boots could do to the leather upholstering. "Is that Pikachu on your shirt?" I give Dean a cheesy grin, shifting slightly to sit closer to Sammy since he's the warmest of the three of us. On instinct, Sammy wraps one of his arms around my shoulders and rubs my arm with his hand while the other remained gripping the wheel. "Alright, back on track, each couple disappeared on the second week of April, one year after another after another." He holds up the map for Sam and me to see, but I couldn't read it even if I knew how.

"This  _is_ the second week of April," Sam points out.

"Yep."

"Will I be used as bait," I ask as I flip the heater on higher," because I'm cool with that as long as I don't actually disappear for the rest of my life. Uncle B might have a problem with that."

"You won't be bait this time around if we can help it." Dean and I share soft smiles, knowing that the possibility of being bait wasn't something you could predict until we got to where we're going and figured out what the hell was going on. Hell I wasn't supposed to be bait while we were all hunting the ghost of a British soldier in South Carolina, but I was and I nearly got my head taken off for all my trouble. Then again, that time I was calling the ghost a loser and telling him great it was to be in the Land of the Free, so I guess I had it coming, but it distracted the thing long enough for John and Uncle Bobby to burn his bones.

"So," Sam says," Dad is sending us to Indiana to go hunting before another couple vanishes?"

"Yahtzee." Dean's eyes were focused back on the map and I allow mine to close as I get warmer. Sam was like a human furnace sometimes and I'm supremely glad of it tonight. Sammy tightens his hold slightly as my shivering begins to lesson, pulling me as close to him as I could be without sitting in his lap. We used to sit like this when we were younger and forced to wait in the car for our guardians to finish up a job, so the position was a comfortable one. "Can you imagine putting together a pattern like this? The different obits Dad had to go through—the man's a master."

"He's something all right," I mumble under my breath, only Sam close enough to actually make out what I said.

"What was that?"

"Nothin', Dean." I had just managed to rest my head against Sammy in a more comfortable position when I felt the car being pulled off on the side of the road, gravel crunching under the tires. "The fuck are you doing?" I open my eyes and turn to see if we were being signaled by the police, but there's only an open stretch of road in front of us, so Sam pulling off made no sense whatsoever. Sam puts the car in park, taking his arm back and forcing me to sit up right.

"We're not going to Indiana," Sam proclaims.

"Since when?"

"No, we're not. We're going to California."

"As much as I'd love to visit the place Full House was filmed at, I don't think we have time right now." Sam frowns at me and then turns the expression on Dean. What was I missing here that seemed to put Sammy in Serious Tourist mode?

"The phone Dad used was from a payphone with a Sacramento area code, and you'd know that if Dean had bothered to fill you in." Well, that certainly makes more sense than sight-seeing, but we have a job to do here first. Why do the Winchesters have to be so fucking stubborn at the worst time possible? Was that written into their DNA or did I just get unlucky enough to be raised around the two shitheads?

"Sam," Dean starts only to have Sam continue in a firm, set in his ways, tone.

"Dean, if this demon killed Mom and Jess and Dad's closing in, we gotta be there. We gotta help." I roll my eyes, moving back to my usual spot in the backseat and using my throw blanket as a pillow. There would be no talking Sam out of this decision and I doubt that Dean could be talked into disobeying his old man, so it would only cause me a headache to take sides. While the two continue their bitch fest, I close my eyes and fall back into a deep sleep.

The next time my eyes open, it's daylight and there's one less person in the car. Thinking I was still too asleep to count, I sit up with my brows creased and try the count again. It did no good, Sam was gone and Dean was glaring straight ahead of him. "Why are we one person short," I ask, my voice still rough from sleep.

"Sammy was adamant about going to California, so I let him." A burst of anger causes me to punch Dean's shoulder as hard as I could without chancing a wreck, continuing to hit him until he grabs my fist in his free hand. "What the hell is that for? He said he wanted to go, so I let him go!"

"He didn't actually want to go by himself, you ass!" I start hitting him with my other hand, forcing him to pull over in order to protect himself. I let out a squeak when he pulls me over in the front seat, both my wrists caught in one of his hands and my legs pinned down by him sitting on them. I keep up my struggle, wriggling until the plastic seat belt clip began to dig into my lower back.

"Are you done?"

"Oh, we're talking later," I warn," I don't care if I have to tie you down in order to do it either."

 


	37. 37

I look up when Dean opens his car door, hurriedly trying to mark my place in my book before following him across the street where a man was seated in a rocking chair outside a restaurant called Scotty's Cafe. The man looked pleasant enough with dark brown hair that brushed the collar of his jean jacket and the usual tanned skin that accompanied small town life and working outside. He seemed to have a small interest in the fact that people were visiting, but I figure this place is crawling with tourists in the summer that insist on taking pictures of everything. "Let me guess," Dean greets as I join him," Scotty."

"Yep," Scotty confirms, glancing at me for a moment before returning his bored gaze to Dean.

"Hi, my name's John Bonham and this is my best friend Patricia." Once he learned Dean and I were just friends, the little interest he had died away and we were left with complete disinterest.  _If you're going to kill off random couples, you might try to be friendlier to people that might just fit the bill_.

"Isn't that the drummer for Led Zeppelin and his wife?" I grin when Dean's caught in his lie, gazing up at him just for his comical deer in the headlights expression. Deciding to take some pity, I speak up and give Dean's arm a sympathetic pat.

"His parents had a weird sense of humor and I go by Trish instead of Pat to make it a little less awkward for us," I respond, stuffing my hands in my jacket pockets. Scotty just shrugs a little, his fingers laced together loosely in his lap as he makes the chair rock slightly.

"What can I do for the two of you?" Dean pulls the missing posters we'd printed earlier out of his coat pocket, unfolding them before handing them off to Scotty to look at. Dean and I had decided to claim that Vince was my cousin to see if we could get the sympathy vote from someone around here. It would work in most small towns, all the old people either reincarnations of Satan or the nicest people you've ever met, the type to give you the shirt off their back. 

"I was wondering if you've seen these people, by chance," Dean answers solemnly. Scotty glanced at both pictures for a grand total of three seconds before looking up at Dean and me again.

"Nope, who are they?"

"Good friends of mine and Trish's cousins. They went missing around a year ago and they were around here the last time they checked in with Trish to let her know they were okay." I move closer to Dean, beginning to shiver because of the cool air. "We've already been through Scottsburg and Salem." The words had barely left Dean's mouth when Scotty handed the posters back. I take them from him, folding them and stuffing them in my back pocket in case we needed them later.

"Sorry. We don't get many strangers around here."

"Scotty, you got a smile that lights up a room. Anybody ever tell you that?" With the polite smile still in place, I elbow Dean in the ribs.

"I'm sorry," I apologize," he doesn't realize how stupid he is sometimes. Ain't that right, Johnny?" Dean grumbles with a wince, rubbing his side as we step off the low porch and head across the street to another business. "Hasn't anyone ever told you not to be a dick to the person that might give us some information?"

"Yeah, you did in high school." I must have elbowed harder than I thought because he was still rubbing his side when we stepped up on the porch of a Mom and Pop shop slash auto garage. "Anybody ever tell you how bony your elbows are?"

"Yeah, you in high school." He mocks me in a high pitched tone before disappearing inside the store, but I hang back and pull out my cell. It was expected that Sam wouldn't text Dean, but that fact that he hasn't even tried to text  _me_  has me worried about him.  **You still alive?**  I wait for the 'sent' message to appear on the phone screen before snapping it shut and heading inside to talk with whoever's occupying the store. It was an elderly couple, the man looking to be a little older than Uncle Bobby, the woman slightly younger than her husband, and the woman stocking shelves a little younger than I am. She was pretty with pale blonde hair while the older couple were both graying. I pull my phone out quickly when the text alert goes off.

**Last I checked, yeah _._**

**Check in every now and then or I'll track your skinny ass down.**

**Yes, ma'am**.

I tuck my phone away again, sending Dean a shrug. "This is my friend I was tellin' you about." I give the couple a smile when I join them inside, Dean sticking his hand in my jeans pocket long enough to extract the posters before handing them over. "And this is the couple that's missing. Are you sure they didn't stop for gas or anything?"

"Please," I add, widening my eyes a little and thinking of something sad to get a few tears to slide down my cheeks. "They're the only family I have left, Vince and I were raised together." The old man shows his wife the posters before handing them back to me, shaking his head in the negative.

"Nope," he says with a shrug," don't remember them. I'm sorry we can't be more help and I hope you find your cousins soon." I stuff the posters back into my pocket as the other woman starts down the stairs with an armful of boxes.

"Did the guy have a tattoo," she asks, setting the boxes down on the counter.

"Yeah," I nod," he got it just before he got married." I pull out the posters again so she can see the picture of Vince, the tattoo displayed clearly in the middle of his forearm. She looks up at the old man, clearly remembering the couple better than the old timers.

"You remember? They were just married." She hands the posters off to the old man and he taps a knuckle against his bottom lip, feigning remembrance. The fact that it was so false a two year old would recognize it only made it hard to keep from rolling my eyes.

"You're right," he recalls," they did stop for gas. Weren't here more than ten minutes."

"Do you remember anything else," Dean asks, jumping on the lead.

"I told them how to get back to the Interstate. They left town."

"Could you point us in that same direction?"

"Sure." The old man scribbles the directions down on the back of one of the posters before Dean and I run back to the Impala and start to drive towards the edge of town. We had barely driven twenty minutes when the high-pitched whine of the EMF detector starts going off in the backseat. Dean and I share a surprised look, the noise confusing us since the thing barely works when the antenna is all the way out let alone when it's buried in the bottom of Dean's duffle.

"What the hell?"

"Hang on," I mumble, leaning over the backseat and digging around until I can find the damn thing, all the small bulbs on the top if it a bright red color. As I moved to sit back down, I felt something tugging on the button of my jeans that refused to give out. "Shit, Dean, pull over, I'm stuck."

"How the hell are you stuck?"

"I don't fucking know, I just am." Dean pulls off to the side of the road and puts the car in park before he starts pulling on my hips, finally pulling hard enough to unhook me. I fall back in the passenger's seat, having to re-button my jeans as Dean holds up a string.

"It must've gotten looped around the button; not that I'm complaining about you being half out of your pants." I toss the EMF at him, laughing as I sit up straighter in my seat. "You know what they say, Liza, all work and no play." He tugs on my belt loop, but his eyes are focused on the EMF detector.

"Yeah, and I'll worry about that if you start chasing me through a hotel with an ax. Until then, all I have to do to keep you from turning into a serial killer is show you my boobs."

"Fair enough." I open my door, letting my legs hand out as I stare behind us at the empty road. "What do you think cause this thing to go haywire?"

"Not sure, but we have two options—we can either keep driving and leave Stars Hollow behind us or we can go play Dora the Explorer and check out the creepy orchard we just passed."

"As much as I love the sound of the first thing, I'm gonna have to go with Option B." I was about to get out when Dean calls me name and sneaks a quick kiss when I turn to look at him. "For good luck."

"Oh, now you're just being a tease." He winks and sends me a flirty smile, making a shiver race down my spine.  _Damn that man_. I shake my head, getting out of the car and shutting the door behind me as I wait on Dean to cross to my side, both of us sharing looks of trepidation once we reach the entrance of the orchard. It was almost winter and the trees were starting to go bare in places, leaves and apples strewn all over the ground.

"If this is the job I'm killed on, I blame you."

"Don't blame me that your darling cousin had to go get himself killed."

"He's not my actual cousin and you know it, you ass." We cross onto another path as we walk further in the orchard. There were ladders and large baskets set up near a few trees, the baskets beginning to overfill with the bright red apples. As if the trees didn't make it creepy enough, a low fog covered the ground and a scarecrow was pinned up to a post in the dead center. The scarecrow was done up in moldering old overalls and a jacket, the burlap sack making up its head is crudely stitched with two black pits serving as its eyes, and a small scythe was wrapped up in one of its hands. Out of instinct, I reach out and gasp Dean's arm as we come closer to it, having to cross over onto a different path in order to reach the freaky thing. "Dude, you fugly."

"It's like something out of a horror movie," I agree, not wanting to get too close in case it came alive and started harvesting body parts. Dean grabs a nearby ladder and moves it over to the scarecrow, gesturing at the ladder.

"Ladies first."

"Bite me, Winchester."

"You just want me up there so you can look at my ass." He does a corny eyebrow waggle to make me laugh before climbing up the ladder, looking the bird-repellant over as I wrap my arms around myself and look around me at the orchard. The overflowing baskets made it seem like nobody really came out here, but the ladders showed no sign of rust, so I know someone has to come out to keep them in shape. "Liza, hand me Vince's poster." Shaking my head, I hand up the poster and watch as he looks from the paper to the scarecrow's arm. "Take a look at this." Once he was on the ground again, I climb up and pull up the jacket sleeve, my fingers brushing against the strange-textured arm. When I spot the familiar tat, I let out a shout and fall backwards, Dean managing to catch me before I hit the ground.

"That's….I just….Ew!"

"I know." Dean sets me down on me feet, making sure I was steady before letting go of my upper arms. "So, the Creeper here is killing the couples and taking their….Parts. How does no one in town notice a creepy ass scarecrow lurking around the orchard?"

"Because I'd bet my right shoe that they're in on it. Scotty looked pretty disappointed when he found out we weren't dating, but we never told the old guy about it, so he sent us here to give the scarecrow a heart."

"Let's head back into town and gets some more answers."

Twenty minutes later, we’re pulling back into the main part of the small town, Dean putting the car in park in front of the gas pump. The woman from earlier, Emily Jorgeson, was standing outside her aunt and uncle’s store when we pulled up and she had a smile ready for Dean. “You guys are back,” she greets with a bit of surprise coloring her tone.

“Never left,” Dean replies, getting out as I open my door and stretch my legs.

“Still looking for your friends?” I nod at her question, following Dean’s example and getting out of the car before hopping up to sit on the back of it near where Dean was standing. _I’m not jealous, I’m cold_. Without seeming to think about it, Dean rests one hand on my knee, squeezing it as he continues to talk to Emily.

“You mind filling it up?” With her smile still in place, a friendly one that didn’t seem to be practiced, she starts the familiar task. It was a rare moment to see someone other than a Winchester messing with Baby, but I figure this would be a way to ask questions without it looking suspicious. “So, did you grow up here?”

“I came here when I was thirteen. I lost my parents—car accident. My aunt and uncle took me in.”

“My uncle took me in, too,” I say,” my dad died in a hunting accident and my mom died after I was born. Your aunt and uncle seem really nice.”

“Everyone around here is nice.”

“It’s the, uh, perfect little town,” Dean jokes with a grin, moving his hand from my knee to rest on the trunk a few inches away from the small of my back. His presence was comforting and I’m sure he feels the same way and that’s why he’s standing so close.

“Well, it’s the boonies, but I love it. I mean, the towns around us, people are losing their homes, their farms, but here…” She trails off, trying to think up the right words as Dean and I share a knowing look. She wasn’t aware of what was going on or she wouldn’t be speaking so freely, but obviously some massive shit’s going down to keep this little town afloat. “It’s like we’re blessed.

“Have you been out to the orchard and seen that creepy scarecrow?”

“It creeps me out too.”

“Whose is it?”

“No idea, it’s just always been there.” I nudge Dean when I notice the car behind Emily, one that wasn’t there when we were here earlier this morning. Noting what I spotted, Dean studies it for a moment and gives just the slightest shake of his head.

“Whose car is that,” I ask, kicking my legs back and forth.

“A customer’s, they had some car troubles.”

“They? Is it a couple?” Emily nods, her hands in her jacket pockets to keep them warm form the cold wind.

“Yeah, they went into Scotty’s to stay warm while Uncle Harley works on their car.”

“That sounds like a good idea, I’m freezing.”

“Y’all go on ahead, I’m gonna stay out here for a little bit longer.” I slide off the trunk and hold out my hand for Dean to take, Dean lacing our fingers together without hesitation as we head across the street to the café we’d visited earlier.

“Hiya, Scotty,” Dean smiles as we step inside, Scotty looking up from the two customers. “Can we get two coffees—one black and the other loaded down with sugar?” Scotty gives a shrug and moves to the kitchen part of the café while Dean and I seat ourselves at the table behind the new visitors. “Oh, and some of that pie, too, while you’re at it.” The couple were average looking, both with brown hair and fit builds. “How’re you doing?” Dean’s attention was focused on the couple now, sending them his friendliest smile. “Just passing through?”

“Road trip,” the woman answers around a mouthful of food.

“Us, too.” Scotty walks back over with a pitcher filled with juice, pouring the couple a drink and completely ignoring Dean’s previous request.

“I’m sure these people want to eat in peace,” he says in a warning tone.

“C’mon, Scotty,” I respond,” a little small talk never killed anyone.” He sends Dean and me a go to hell look as he passes by, but we ignore it easily. “What has y’all stopping, the cute surroundings or the pie?”

“We just stopped for gas,” the woman answers again as her boyfriend stuffs a forkful of fresh apple pie in his mouth,” and the guy at the gas station saved our lives.”

“Is that right,” Dean asks in disbelief.

“Yeah, one of our break lines was leaking,” the man nods with a laugh,” we had no idea. He’s fixing it for us.”

“Nice people.”

“Uh-huh.”

“How long until you’re up and running?”

“Sundown.”

“Isn’t that a bit long for one break line,” I ask, knowing for a fact that the answer was no since Uncle B had fixed several of those in the past. “John worked at my uncle’s savage yard, he might be able to help you out.”

“She’s right,” Dean concurs,” I could probably have it up and running in about an hour and wouldn’t charge you anything.”

“Thanks a lot,” the woman replies,” but I think we’d rather have a mechanic do it.”

“Of course.” I bite my lip, wondering if anyone would notice me sneaking outside and popping their tires if only to delay them going past the orchard until after sundown. That must be when Leatherface does recruits bits and pieces for his plastic surgery. “It’s just that these roads aren’t real safe at night.” _Well, that’s one way to come off as creepy and make them want to believe the wicked townspeople over you, Dean_.

“I’m sorry?”

“What he means is that there’s been lots of trouble on the road back to the Interstate,” I clarify upon seeing how quickly their happy moods dropped. “We read it in this online newspaper we found a few nights ago, the writer said it’s safer to travel while there’s still some light out.”

“Right,” the man says, unconvinced,” we just want to eat.”

“Thanks for comin’, Sheriff.” We look up at Scotty’s voice, spotting a man wearing a leather jacket with a badge pinned to the front. Exasperated, I roll my eyes and lean back in my chair as Officer Friendly makes his way over to our table.

“I’d like a word, please,” he states as he places his hands on his hips and looks down at us like we’re two teens he caught in the backseat of a car.

“Come on,” Dean pleads,” we’re having a bad enough day as it is.” The sheriff rests his arms on the table, bending so that he’s on Dean’s level.

“You don’t want to make it worse. How bout I give y’all an escort out of town?” Dean seems to have a mental debate before standing up and holding out a hand for me, wrapping it around my waist as soon as we were outside. Emily was standing on the porch of the family store as we cross the street, sending us curious looks when she spots the sheriff right behind us.

“This blows.”


	38. 38

We wait until dark to drive back into town, almost there when we notice the car pulled off the side of the road with its emergency blinkers flashing. "Son of a bitch," Dean grumbles, parking the Impala in front of the other car while I jump out and run for the orchard, my pistol in the waistband of my jeans and a machete in my hand. I can hear Dean running behind me as we move further into the orchard. "Split up!" I give a nod and move to the right as he continues to go straight and I end up behind the scarecrow as it chases after the couple from earlier.

"Hey, ugly," I shout," fresh meat right here!" Breathing hard, the monster starts after me and I tighten my grip on the machete handle as it comes closer.

"Liza!" I drop to the ground when the scythe cuts through the air where my head had been seconds ago, the scarecrow off balance when his weapon doesn't connect with flesh. Before I can drive my machete up into its stomach, a shotgun blast rings out and straw sprays out of the scarecrow's shoulder. Not wasting any time and scared shitless, I duck beneath the limp arm and run to Dean, sheathing the machete and bringing out my pistol.

"Thanks."

"Thank me later, let's go!" We sprint after the couple as the scarecrow turns and begins to chase us again, our guns having no effect on it even after I shoot it between the eyes. "Save your ammo!" Frustrated and out of breath, I run a little faster towards the Impala, the monster gaining ground fast. It's only when we reach the car and turn to face down the scarecrow that we notice it's no longer behind us and that the loud breathing was coming from us.

"W-what the hell was that," the man demands.

"Don't ask."

* * *

"Liza, hey, we're at the college." I moan as Dean tugs on some of my hair, swatting his hand away as I sit up straighter in my seat and looks around. "Why don't you go tame your hair in the bathroom and I'll go meet up with the professor?" I make a small noise of agreement and grab my bag from the backseat before following Dean inside, heading straight for the girls' bathroom. No one else is inside and I lock the door behind me to have some time by myself.

"I look like shit," I mumble when I catch sight of my reflection in one of the mirrors, setting the bag down on the counter beside a sink. My hair was sticking out and matted, I had some drool on my chin, and yesterday's clothes were wrinkled and speckled with blood. I shake my head, turning on the cold water and cupping my hands beneath the faucet before scrubbing my face to wake me up a little. I use a paper towel to dry with before running a brush through my tangled mane, wincing as it snags now and then. Once my hair was finished, I pull on a fresh pair of pants, a galaxy tank top, my usual leather jacket and boots, and a blue beanie to keep my hair from getting too tangled in the wind. With my glasses in place, I brush my teeth and stow everything away in my bag before leaving the bathroom to find Dean. The college was weirdly quiet, so I was able to follow the sound of voices into an office.

"Oh, professor, this is Elizabeth, she's the one that got me interested in all of this." I give the professor a small wave as I join them at the desk, not fully awake just yet and definitely not ready to strike up a friendly conversation. "He might be able to help us with the question you had about gods that hung out in orchards."

"Neat."

"It is," the professor agrees. "It could be a woods god." He opened an old leather-bound book and started flipping through the pages, going slow so that Dean and I could take a good look at each of the pictures. One captures our attention—the picture showing people farming with a scarecrow set up in the middle of the field.

"Whoa, wait, what's that one," Dean asks, tapping the page before the professor can turn it.

"That's not a woods god, per se."

"The Vanir?" The professor gives a shrug of his shoulders and I lean over Dean's shoulder to follow him as he reads the information on the opposite page out loud. "The Vanir were Norse gods of protection and prosperity, keeping the local settlements safe from harm. Villages built effigies of the Vanir in their fields. Other villages practiced human sacrifice, one male and one female."

"Does that effigy look like the scarecrow from Jeepers Creepers to anyone else," I ask when Dean stops reading.

"I suppose it does," the professor nods, though he doesn't look at ease.

"This particular Vanir, its energy sprung from a sacred tree," Dean continues.

"Pagans believed all sorts of things were infused with magic." I straighten up as Dean does the same, relieved to finally have something to go off of. Now all we had to do was fight our way past an evil scarecrow god and destroy a tree. Shouldn't be too hard, should it? Then again, most of the things that shouldn't be too hard, usually turn out to be the hardest cases of all.

"What would happen if the sacred tree had an accident," I ask, looking up at the professor. "Like, what if it was struck by lightning or torn down? It would kill the god, right?" The professor lets out a nervous laugh, clapping me on the shoulder.

"You both realize these are just legends, right?"

"Yeah," Dean agrees, shaking the old man's hand," thank you very much."

"Glad to help." I shake his hand next, smiling a little more than I had before now that my blood was pumping in anticipation. "It was nice meeting you both."

"You too, sir." Dean opens the door to leave, but the sheriff is waiting there and uses the butt of his rifle to hit Dean square in the face. I try to bring my bag off my shoulder and hit the sheriff with it, but I'm too slow and he brings the rifle down hard enough to knock me out.

 _Christ on a stick_.

The next time I open my eyes, I'm in some sort of cellar filled with canned fruits and jams, and Dean is trying to break the door down using his shoulder. "Please tell me I'm just dreaming."

"Not quite, Liza." He grunts, ramming his shoulder against the door again with nothing to show for it. "What the hell is that lock made of?" He keeps at it as I stand up, my head aching where it was hit and my glasses missing. Everything was slightly blurry and I found myself squinting to try and make things out in the dark. "We gotta get out of here."

"I know, get out or be murdered."

"Technically, we'll be sacrificed," Dean points out between grunts as he continues to work at the door. Since it was a cellar we're trapped in, the door is slanted above our heads, so he couldn't run at it like he could if it was at a normal angle. "These people are classy."

"Oh please, they're one step above the Hills Have Eyes." A migraine was beginning to build behind my eyes the longer I'm without my glasses, only adding to my list of discomforts. "Scooch over and let me help." Dean maneuvers to the side just enough for me to squeeze in between him and the concrete wall. "Alright." In unison, we slam against the door, both of us only getting sore shoulders as we keep at it.

"Jesus, I'm gonna need, like, ten Tylenol when we get out of here."

"Fuck that, I'm gonna need a massage." As we moved to hit it again, the door suddenly opens and out momentum carries us out of the cellar and to the wet grass outside. Harley, the sheriff, and Scotty point their rifles down at us while Stacey and the professor stand slightly back since they held no weapons.

"It's time," Stacey informs us. The sheriff grabs the back of Dean's jacket and hauls him to his feet before doing the same to me, Harley jabbing his rifle in my back to get me moving on down the street toward the orchard.

"You guys are such assholes."

"Quiet, blondie," Officer Friendly snaps as Harley jabs me in the back again.

"Hey," Dean growls," why don't you show some respect?!" The sheriff scoffs, sending Dean and me derisive glares. I roll my eyes and keep walking, my feet aching worse than usual when we finally make it to the creepy ass orchard. Where before the trees had most of their leaves, this time they're almost completely bare and the trees show signs of dying. "How many people have you killed, Sheriff?" Dean was taken to one tree to be tied to it and I was forced to sit in front of one a few feet behind and to the right of his. "How much blood is on your hands?"

Stacey and the professor bind my wrists above my head and wrap a thick rope around my middle to make sure I don't wiggle loose. "We don't kill them."

"You sure as hell don't save them," I remark loudly, earning a backhanded slap from Stacey. Once we were tied in place, the group begins to head back the way they came, turning their backs to us even as we struggle against the ropes.

"I hope your apple pies is freakin' worth it," Dean shouts after them.

"Please tell me you came up with a plan while I was unconscious."

"I'm working on it." I believed him until it started to grow dark and he was still sitting there, tied to his tree with a befuddled expression. "Liza, do you have any ideas?"

"Sorry, I can't pull ideas out of my ass." As if things couldn't get any worse, a spider began to make its way up my leg, my scream and flailing legs making it soar through the air and land a few feet away on the ground. "Why can't spiders just die already?!"

"Because they love you too much, Liza," comes the unexpected yet completely welcome voice of Sam. "Y'all just let yourselves get tied to trees?"

"If I wasn't so happy to see you, I'd kick your ass!" He chuckles, bending down and untying the ropes around my wrists and waist.

"How'd you know where to find us," Dean asks, straining to see Sam from his position.

"I got a call from a girl named Emily," Sammy explains," and then I stole a car and drove here."

"Attaboy," Dean laughs, sounding proud of his baby brother. Once I was freed, Sam and I move to help Dean, the knots hard to undo since my fingers were beginning to go numb, but I managed after a moment before moving to the larger rope around Dean's waist. "Hey, don't forget to keep an eye on the Creeper." I nod, standing up and looking towards the post where it was bound, but finding nothing.  _Please say my eyes are playing tricks on me_. There was nothing there that even resembled the scarecrow and Sam's next words confirmed my fears.

"What scarecrow?" Dean scrambles to his feet and moves to stand beside me, eyes scanning to orchard for any sign of the scarecrow.

"Move, now!" He grabs my arm and begins to sprint with Sam right beside him, both boys basically dragging me towards the road since my legs aren't as long as theirs.

"Wait, how do we get rid of this thing?"

"Torch its sacred tree before it devours all of us and uses our skin to decorate with." Dean pauses only long enough to pick me up over his shoulder before picking up speed again, this way quicker than me trying to keep up with them. "Liza, warn us if it comes up behind us."

"You got it," I reply, squinting to make out any moving shapes in the darkness.

"Why don't we just kill the tree now," Sam asks.

"Because I at least want to make it to my thirtieth birthday!"

"Liza's right," Dean agrees," we'll come back in the morning when it's less likely to be awake." The boys round a corner only to come to a sudden standstill for a second before trying to back up.

"Scotty's here!" Scotty was standing with his rifle aimed at us, the glare of his flashlight almost blinding. Dean sets me on my feet, making sure I was sandwiched between him and Sammy. In front of us was Stacey and Harley, Harley holding his own rifle. Our only other paths were taken up by the sheriff and professor, effectively trapping the three of us in the orchard. A menacing growling sets me on edge, my hands beginning to shake as I fully realize I have no weapons to defend myself with.

"It'll be done quickly," Harley promises," but you all have to go back the way you came and-" He lets out a strangled grunt when the tip of a scythe breaks through the flesh and muscle of his chest, dropping his rifle in pain. Stacey lets out a scream when it happens and I reach out and grab Sam and Dean's hands. Still screaming, Stacey and Harley are dragged further into the orchard by the scarecrow, Harley already bleeding out too fast to be saved even if the others hadn't ran for their lives.

"Past the fence," Dean orders, getting a firmer hold on my hand," move it, you two, now!"

* * *

It was strangely calm as we walked through the orchard the next morning, the sun shining down past the bare branched and birds singing. Already, the apples littering the ground were looking brighter and the trees healthier from the murder last night. All of us come to a stop in front of a gnarled old tree with a strange inscription carved into the old bark, Emily standing between me and Dean as Sam moves ahead to pour gasoline over the tree and surrounding ground where its roots were buried. "Can I do it," Emily asks once the long branch in Dean's hand caught fire. She had found Dean's cell phone last night and dialed the number already pulled up before telling Sam everything she'd overheard her aunt and uncle talking about.

"You do know the whole town's gonna die if you do this," Dean warns.

"Good." Once Sam was standing by Dean, she takes the branch and tosses it at the base of the tree, flames licking up the soaked bark and white leaves curling up before turning to ash. "Can you guys give me a lift to the bus station? I need to get out of here."

"Sure thing," I nod. We stay in the orchard long enough to watch the tree burn and destroy the scarecrow before we pile into the Impala, Emily and I sharing my throw blanket to keep warm. It was a quiet ride there and even quieter as Emily buys her ticket and boards the bus heading to Boston. As the bus pulls out, Dean wraps an arm around my shoulders, holding me close.

"You think she's gonna be alright," Sam asks.

"I hope so," Dean states.

"And the rest of the townspeople—they'll just get away with it?"

"Their crops are gonna die and their lands will be completely useless," I respond as we start back towards the car, my arm wrapped around Dean's waist. "They'll have to sell out and move somewhere else if they want to survive, so I'd say that's punishment enough."

"You want me to drop you off anywhere," Dean asks his brother.

"Nope," Sam answers," you're both stuck with me now." We come to a stop in front of the car, Dean staring up at Sam in curiosity. I knew what he was wondering about, he was wondering if Sam was just going to get upset and leave again like he did a few days ago, and I know that Sammy'll do just that since he's a stubborn ass like the rest of us. I also know he'll come back because, despite everything, he loves his big brother and he wouldn't like living without knowing Dean's okay.

"What made you change your mind?"

"I didn't, I still want to find Dad, you're still a pain in the ass, and Liza's still a smartass, but Jess and Mom...They're both gone. Dad is God knows where. The three of us and Bobby are all that's left, so, uh, if we're gonna see this through, we're gonna do it together." There's a moment of silence where Dean looks like he might just cry before he rests a hand on Sammy's shoulder.

"Hold me, Sam. That was beautiful." Sam brushes Dean's hand off with a smile and I grin up at Dean, glad to see him back in a joking mood. "Come on, let's hit the road." Dean released me so he could walk around the car to the driver's side, still smiling.

"You two should be kissing my ass, you were both dead meat without me."

"Whatever," I smile, getting in the backseat and pulling the door closed," I could've pulled a plan out of thin air if I wanted to."

_I took a walk around the world to ease my troubled mind/I left my body lying somewhere in the sands of time/But I watched the world float to the dark side of the moon/I feel there is nothing I can do/I watched the world float to the dark side of the moon/After all I knew it had to be something to do with you/I really don't mind what happens now and then/As long as you'll be my friend at the end_


	39. WITCHES AND STITCHES

The town was quiet as its residents disappeared inside their houses for the night, each of them fighting the cold winds howling outside. The ground was sprinkled with an early snowfall and golden leaves that fell from the trees, and the sky overhead was dotted with the faint glow of stars and the full moon hanging behind wispy gray clouds. The only sound to be heard came from the edge of town where the football field was located, several teens lounging in the metal bleachers with coats and blankets to keep warm.

They weren't supposed to be there so late at night, but no one would stop them as long as they weren't damaging anything on the property. There were only five teens and one adult, four of the group were made up by men that had been drinking since early that evening and couldn't make the simplest decision by themselves. The only two women in the group were mostly sober and kept the men from tumbling off their seats.

"Seriously, though, why don't we go to the city this weekend," the oldest man asks, his words slurred, but understandable. He was tall and fit with pale hair that hung in his eyes and obscured his dark eyes. He had graduated high school two years previous, but found himself hanging around high school students more than adults. He was what most people would categorize as a loser, the type that would never do much aside from drink and hustle pool games.

"Because you're the only one with a license and it's suspended," Brittney points out with a giggle, swatting away the man's hand when he tried to rest it on her head. The man, Tyson, was laughing now, the type of laughter that had him throwing his head back and belting it out.

"That's never stopped him before," James points out with his own laugh. Their happy moods were slowly dimmed when they began to hear rustling below them. "What was that?" The men, drunk and foolish, peered beneath the space between the bleachers towards the ground, finding nothing that could've made the noise.

"It was probably just a rabbit," Logan suggests, taking another drink from the can in his hand. "They're all over this damn town."

"There wasn't a rabbit down there," Kelsey points out.

"Then it was the wind." Logan shrugs and stands on wobbly feet. "Who wants to go see if I'm right? If I am, then we can cook up Bugs Bunny tomorrow for lunch." James, Tyson, and Henry join Logan and start down the stairs while Brittany and Kelsey huddle together for warmth and watch the guys to make sure they didn't hurt themselves.

"They're so stupid."

"No shit," Brittany agrees. She turned slightly, watching over the edge of the bleachers as Logan and Tyson begin kicking piles of leaves out of the way to get a better look. "Wanna head home?" Kelsey nods and the two of them lean on each other as they make their way down the stairs and over to the others to say their goodbyes.

"Good luck with the wabbit hunting!"

"Hey, you two be careful," Henry calls over his shoulder while the other three boys just wave them on. Still wrapped up in their blanket, the girls continue on their way back to town, the blacktop slick under their feet from the melting snow and recent rainfall. "Guys, maybe we should head back, too. I mean, y'all don't want to get sick and have to miss practice."

"Yeah, and that rabbit's probably long gone by now," Logan shrugs.

"If there even was a rabbit," Tyson remarks, ruffling Logan's messy brown hair. As the four of them reached the street and started walking the way the girls had, they heard the first scream. With their testosterone in high gear, all for of the teens begins a dead sprint in the direction of the scream. Tyson was the first one to reach the scene, letting out a shriek of his own when the murderer turned to face him, the man's gloved hand grasping Brittany's head by hear long blonde hair.

Despite his fear, Tyson could feel his rage building at the fact that his baby sister had just been murdered and he wasn't there to protect her. "Holy shit!" The man dropped the head and kicked it over to them, Brittany's face frozen in an expression of absolute horror.

"C'mon, man, we gotta get out of here," James cried, beginning to run back towards the football field, but Tyson was frozen in place. The man was clothed in all black, his cape whipping around behind him and his sword glinting in the moonlight—stained crimson in places from the blood of Kelsey and Brittany.

"You son of a bitch," Tyson growls, his shaking hands balled into fists, struggling to get at the man even as Logan and Henry yanked him backwards with them. Unlike James, the other three were moving around the man and towards the town. While Logan was just thinking of warning his family, Henry was able to connect the dots and wanted to make it over the bridge. They could hear another scream behind them, cut short and followed by a wet thump.

"Fuck, that was James," Logan gasps, picking up his speed and tightening his hold on Tyson's jacket.

"Get to the bridge," Henry shouts. Tyson remained quiet, his breaths coming out as small white clouds as he panted. "Hurry, get to the bridge!" The bridge was in sight and Tyson felt a surge of energy as he ran faster than his two friends. He heard the sound of metal whistling through the air, a horse's whinny, two thumps, and then nothing as his feet hit the bridge that spanned across a small lake and led into town. Tyson turned and watched in horror as Henry threw himself forward as the man swung his sword again. Tyson squeezes his eyes closed, the sickening crunch of bone and the wetness splattering his face telling him exactly what had happened.

When he opened his eyes again, the man was gone and his best friends were dead.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to be clear, the Sleepy Hollow town I'm basing this one on is fictional and not one of the real ones. Also, you can blame this original case on a movie called "The Hollow" it's pretty cheesy, but I loved watching it when I was in middle school and I recently found it on iTunes, so bear with me here.


	40. 40

"Give it back!"

"Not a chance, blondie," Sam retorts, holding the remote above my head and laughing when I started jumping for it. "We're watching my show this time." While Big Brother played in the background, I throw my weight against Sam and force him to fall backward on the bed, straddling his chest as I try to wrestle the remote out of his hands. "Stop it!"

"No, I called dibs!" Sam flips us, both of us falling off the bed and to the carpeted floor with a grunt. I continue to struggle, slapping his chest and wrapping my legs around his to gain some leverage and flip us again. "Give it up, Sammy."

"What are you doin'," Lilly asks as she walks into the guest room.

"I'm kicking Sammy's butt." I knee Sam in the side, not enough to cause any harm, but enough for him to loosen his grip. Lilly giggles when I let out a triumphant noise, jumping up with the remote in hand. "I've got- Ahh!" Sam had tackled me to the floor again, sitting on my lower back and snatching the remote. "That's so cheating!" Lilly, still giggling, walks over, uses my butt as a step-stool, and then grabs the remote out of Sammy's hand before walking out of the room. Sam and I scramble after the blonde thief, chasing her into the kitchen in time to see Tanya setting the remote up on the refrigerator.

"You can have it back when you two start getting along." The four year old had her arms crossed over her chest, one hip popped out, and her eyebrows raised with her lips pursed. She looked exactly like Tanya did whenever she lectures people at her job. Tanya's auburn hair is done up in an elegant bun, only a few wisps escaping, and she was dressed in a simple tank top and shorts since it was always hot in the kitchen when the stove was on. She's had Lilly since the baby was one and a half, and she always treated me like she would a favorite niece.

"Traitor," Sam smiles, ruffling my niece's blonde hair. Lilly swats at him with both of her hands, poking her bottom lip out and furrowing her brow.

"Stop it, Sammy!" The doorbell rang and Tanya looks up in annoyance, blowing a stubborn strand of hair out of her face. "I got it, I got it! It's my turn this time!" Monkey takes off for the door with Sam following behind her to make sure she wasn't snatched up by a weirdo. There had been a rash of robberies in Stillwater in the past month, so Lilly wasn't allowed to go anywhere by herself or answer the door without an adult nearby.

"I'm so glad you were here for her birthday party," Tanya sighs, collapsing in a kitchen chair and fixing her bun. "It would've been chaos without an extra hand that knew where everything was at." I stir the hamburger meat to keep it from burning, sending her a smile over my shoulder. "When are you guys heading out again?"

"Tomorrow morning, probably," I answer, pushing some hair behind my ear," Uncle Bobby would live on beer if I let him." Tanya gives me a tired smile, gratefully letting me finish up the spaghetti. "When's Darren coming back from his trip?"

"Sometime in the next few days." Lilly comes running back into the kitchen, grinning and tugging a man with her by the hand. Instead of Sam like I had expected, Noah Archer was standing with Lilly and Sammy was bringing up the rear. "Noah," Tanya greets coldly," why are you here this time?"

"I have a job for Elizabeth and her two sidekicks," he shrugs, passing his daughter twenty dollars for her piggy bank. That was a requirement if Archer wanted to keep seeing Lilly, twenty dollars every visit that would go towards Lilly's college fund. "It's right up our alley and I think Liza will have a field day with it." He nods at the hallway and then sends a pointed look from Lilly to me before nodding again.

"Fine," I grumble, shutting the kitchen door on my way out. The three of us gather together in the living room, Sammy turning up the volume of the TV in case Lilly tried to listen in. "What's the case, Archer?"

"You remember that tiny town that always beats us in football, but is crushed in softball?" I nod, gesturing for him to speed things along. "Well, apparently there's a guy in medieval clothing that's lopping off people's heads if they're out past midnight and don't make it to a certain bridge in time." It took me a moment to register his words, adding up the details with the town's name and quickly growing excited enough to let out a squeal.

"We're going to Sleepy Hollow to kill the Headless Horseman, aren't we?"

"We are indeed." I let out another squeal, jumping a little in my giddiness. "She's been wanting to hear those words since she found out about hunting." Not wanting to wait any longer than necessary, I bolt out of the living room, into the entrance hall, and up the stairs to the guest room Dean claimed a few days ago. He was in the middle of cleaning his gun when I burst inside, looking amused as I just stand there and grin at him.

"Do I have to guess what's made you so happy or are you going to tell me," he questions with a smile of his own.

"Sleepy Hollow," I say with a bounce," we've got a case in Sleepy Hollow!"

"Isn't that the town Davenport crushes in softball every year?"

"That's not the point." I jump on the bed, sitting with my knees under me so that, when I rest my hands on Dean's shoulders, I've got the high ground—er, mattress. "The point is that the Headless Horseman— _the Headless Horseman_ —is killing teenagers and we get to go play ghostbusters! This is the greatest day of my life! How are you not as excited as I am?"

"Sorry, Liza, I must've put on my big boy underwear by mistake." I slap his shoulder, still bouncing on the mattress and letting out small noises of excitement. "Okay, you either need to stop bouncing like that or get naked, because I can't focus on the case with your boobs in my face like that."

"Sorry." I readjust myself so that I'm sitting on my butt, biting my lip and looking up at Dean as I struggle to control my happiness. "This is the greatest-"

"Moment of your life, yeah, I got that, Liza." As we were talking, he'd finished up his cleaning and was now putting all the parts back into their proper places. "Who gave you the good news?"

"Ah…" My excitement dims slightly and give my answer muffled in a cough. "Noah Archer."

"I'm sorry, I don't speak cheesy cover up."

"Noah Archer." Dean's good mood vanishes and he slides the last few pieces home harder than was necessary before setting the pistol down on the bedside table. "Look, he might not even come with us to work this one, and Lilly's just starting to get used to him, so don't screw things up by knocking his teeth down his throat."

"Oh please, I'm classier than that." Dean gets up and makes it to the door before I speak up again.

"You can't put your boot up his ass either."

"Now you're just being mean." With a knowing smile, I walk over to him and rise up on my tiptoes to whisper in his ear. I made sure to use a seductive tone, one that usually had him weak at the knees and drooling.

"Do something I don't approve of and I'll make sure you don't get laid for a week, sweetie pie." Smacking his ass on the way out, my smile widens into a satisfied grin. His expression was one of lust and reluctance and it left me happier than the case did.

"So mean."


	41. 41

Dean looks around curiously at the small town, noting how few people were outside on the unusually warm day. The few that were outside were all pale and looking around the fearfully like they thought the Headless Horseman was waiting just around the corner. The gentle purr of the Impala's engine gained attention from the people outside and inside alike as they drove through the town at a slow crawl. "Well, this is pleasant," Dean remarks.

"There's been five deaths in one night, Dean," Elizabeth responds quietly," that kind of thing leaves a big impact on towns like this one." Dean had no doubt about that, he knew how close-knit people were in small communities—everybody knew everyone and there were rarely any secrets that weren't public knowledge. He uses the rearview mirror to look at Elizabeth, noticing the way she stared out her window with a frown. For her to be so excited about this case, she's also sad about the high death toll.

"Are you sure this is the place," Dean asks uncertainly. There was no way in hell that this could be the right address.

"Yeah," Archer nods as Dean stops in front of an old colonial style home, Archer having to look at the brass address plaque screwed into one of the gray brick columns that supported a wrought iron gate. The gate itself was opened inward and had designs of leaves decorating around the large JC welded into the iron. Dean presses on the gas to get them moving again, the driveway better paved than the street they left behind. The driveway was the type that circled back to the gate, but part of it branched off to the right and led to a two-car garage. The bit in the middle that wasn't paved had a large fountain with a stone cupid on the top tier that was spurting water from the tip of its bow. Dean parks the car in front of the porch steps, gazing up at the intimidating structure uncertainly. The wraparound porch and steps were made of expensive white Pine and there were Greek columns that supported the overhanging roof. "This place has had a lot of work done to it since the last time I was here."

"When did you ever live in Sleepy Hollow," Sam asks, turning in his seat to face Archer.

"Jackson Cranston is my mom's second ex-husband. I used to spend my summers here after camp let out until the two divorced and she married a guy with more money."

"He met Dana when he lived here," Elizabeth adds," They were both seventeen at the time." Dean frowns at the mention of Liza's older sister, knowing she was a sore subject most of the time. "Let's get this over with." Liza was the first one out of the car with Dean right behind her and the others following after him, each of them moving up the short set of steps and up to the two front doors. Dean couldn't be sure, but he thought they were made of cherry wood and had a small pane of stained glass in the two doors that allowed Dean a small glance inside. Archer reaches past everyone to ring the doorbell, moving back the very back of their group when Dean shoots him a glare.

The man that opened the door for them was around Sam's height with short blonde hair and blue eyes that spoke of how stern he was. There were bags under his eyes and he was so pale that he was nearly ashen in color. "Good morning, Mister Cranston," Archer greets, no longer looking so confident. He has shrunken in on himself, looking more like the teenager Dean remembered lurking around the older Mayson sister.

"Noah," Cranston greets stiffly," who are your guests?"

"This is Elizabeth Mayson, Sam Winchester, and Sam's older brother Dean." Noah pointed at each of them in turn, voice soft and barely heard. Cranston swept his critical gaze over each of them, the corners of his mouth turned down in a frown. Obviously this guy wasn't fond of meeting new people. Then again, Dean wasn't sure he'd look impressed if three people he didn't know showed up on his doorstep dressed in what Cranston must see as rags either. While Archer looked presentable in a pair of ironed pants and a polo shirt, Dean and the others must look like trash. Sammy was dressed in a pair of ripped jeans, a simple tee, a red and black plaid shirt over the tee, and sneakers; Elizabeth was in a pair of black pants, a Jurassic Park sweater, and boots; and Dean was in his usual faded jeans, AC/DC tee, leather jacket, and biker boots. The guy in front of them had dressed in suit pants, a crisp white shirt that was rolled up to his elbows, and shiny black shoes that looked like they could cost more than Dean's car.

"Yes, well, I suppose all of you should come inside, then." Despite being from Oklahoma, he had one of those snobby upper-crust accents and a tendency to look down his nose at everyone. Dean half-expected and really hoped that Cranston's face would stick in his expression of disdain with his eyes nearly crossed, it would make Dean's month if that happened because he could already tell that he and Cranston weren't going to get along. Their group file into the entrance hall, a grand staircase a few paces in front of them that led to the second floor of the house, three doors on their right and two on their left, and then two French doors set on either side of the staircase. The staircase itself was the type you'd see in a movie like The Haunted Mansion with a banister that seamlessly joined the railing of the second floor landing. "This way and please refrain from touching anything.

Dean opened his mouth with a retort when Liza beat him to it," Stuff it, Lestat." Sam lets out a snort of laughter as they followed Cranston through the second door on their right, finding themselves in a parlor decorated with those fancy rugs from overseas and knick-knacks that covered the shelves set into the walls. Two women were seated together on a loveseat, both trying not to cry and holding each other closely, a man that could be Cranston's twin was seated in an armchair with a bottle of beer in his hand, and two teenage boys were standing together in front of a window, talking in quiet voices that could barely be heard over the crackling of flames in the fireplace.

"Dear, you remember my step-son?" The woman with dark blonde hair looks up at the group, her eyes red-rimmed and sore. The woman, Mrs. Cranston, gives a brief nod in Archer's direction before bringing the tissue back up to her eyes as new tears stream down. Dean, uncomfortable around crying women, sidesteps closer to Elizabeth and is suddenly grateful that his friend hated crying if she could help it. "These are his companions—Elizabeth, Dean, and Sam."

"Kayla," Archer greets with a nod in the woman's direction. It was weird seeing this side of Archer, but he could certainly get used to it if it meant he wasn't making lewd comments in Liza's direction. "Anne." The other woman, dark haired with the kind of beauty that everyone notices all at once, nods at Archer before wrapping her arms around Kayla and rocking her back and forth.

"Boys, come introduce yourselves." As the two boys by the window make their way over, Cranston points at a man that looks to be the older version of him. "This is my brother-in-law, Ryan Crandall and his son, Luka." Cranston gestured from the man in the chair to the youngest of the boys. He looked like he could be sixteen or seventeen and was a little on the scrawny side compared to the boy next to him. His dark hair was cut short and he had glasses the kept sliding down his nose. "This is my boy Tyson." The other boy had shaggy blonde hair that matched his father's, dark brown eyes, and a build that suggested he'd played Quarterback in football.

"Nice to meet you three," Ryan says respectfully, seeming less judging than Cranston. "Jackson, why don't I show them to where they'll be staying?" His jaw clenched tightly, Cranston gives a curt nod and sends the group a suspicious glare. "This way, please." Dean follows Ryan out of the parlor, relaxing a bit when he feels Liza's hand slip into his. She almost always managed to calm him down, her mothering nature soothing when he was usually around testosterone-ruled men. They follow Ryan up the staircase and to the left down a long hall lit by low-burning oil lamps with a few family portraits hanging on the walls.

"That's kinda old fashioned, isn't it," Dean wonders, pointing at the closest portrait.

"It's a family tradition, I guess. Every generation gets their own portrait that hangs in the main house." He pauses outside of one of the doors, pushing it open and leading the way inside, flipping on the overhead light as he went. The room was on the large side with its own fireplace opposite a four-poster bed that had crimson and gold bed curtains, there were two French doors across the room that led out to a terrace large enough to hold a simple chair, a wardrobe on the right of the fireplace, and a door on the wall right of the bed that led into a bathroom. "This will be your room, Elizabeth. Is it to your liking?"

"Yeah," Elizabeth answers, looking around in slight awe. "This is great, Mister Crandall, thank you." Ryan waves a hand with a grimace.

"Call me Ryan, it doesn't make me feel as old." She grins at him, her hands stuffed in the back pockets of her jeans. "Dean, you'll be in the room next door, so you'll share a bathroom with Elizabeth, and you two will be just across the hall. Noah, you know which room is yours and I'm sure you can show your friends around."

"Um, what did you mean the main house," Sam asks, leaning against the wall. He seemed completely relaxed, thumbs hooked in his belt loops with his fingers half-inside his jean pockets. "Is there another one?"

"There is." Ryan nods with a fond smile, clearly proud of his heritage. "The oldest child in my family, Kayla, gets the main house, while the second oldest gets the house next door. Mine isn't as large or nice as this one, but it's homey. My wife, son, and I will be staying here to help out while the others grieve. Their daughter was one of the first murdered by—" It seemed as though Ryan was having difficulty saying the words  _Headless Horseman._

"Ghost," Dean supplies.

"I suppose I'll have to get used to saying that, won't I?" He shakes his head, running his fingers through his untidy gray hair before walking over to the door. "Supper is served at five in the dining room, you shouldn't have too hard a time finding it." As Ryan walked out of the room and back down the hall, Liza moved to look out of the French doors at the darkening skyline just beyond the trees that made up the back fence of the Cranston's yard.

"I hope they have some pie."


	42. 42

I look up as Dean enters our shared bathroom, a change of clothes in his arms and the sweatpants he wore hanging low on his hips. "Morning," I smile, beginning to put on a light layer of makeup to hide the pale scar above my right eye. It made me feel like Harry Potter most of the time even though it's just a straight line from hitting my head on the kitchen counter when I was eight.

"What's got you so happy this morning," he grumbles, setting his clothes beside mine on the counter before moving to get the shower water heating up. The bathroom was slightly cramped compared to the rest of the house with only a shower, a toilet, and the counter that took up a whole wall—the sink set into the counter and a large mirror hanging above it.

"My bra and panties match, so nothing can ruin my day today."

"Proof or you're lying, Liza." Feeling flirty this morning, I pull up the strap of my black tank top to show him the lacy pink strap of my bra before tugging on the waistband of my skinny jeans to show him the matching band of my panties. "Is that a thong?"

"God no." My nose crinkles as I remember the only time I wore a thong. "I'd rather not walk around with a wedgie all day, thanks. These are boy shorts." He nods, pretending to understand what I meant as he relieved himself and I turned back to finish up with the concealer and powder. Once that was done, I pull on my green and black plaid button-up top that had  **It's Just a Bunch of Hocus Pocus** on the back and a black headband to keep my hair out of my face while we visit the crime scene this morning.

"You already take a shower?"

"Nope, I'm gonna shower tonight." Dean shrugs, tossing his boxers and sweatpants on the counter before getting in the shower, letting out a loud sigh when the hot water hits him.

"This water pressure is amazing." Smiling, I grab my boots and leave him to his shower, joining Sammy and Archer out in the hallway.

"You're awfully chipper this morning," Archer remarks as we make our way down the stairs and to the dining room where the Cranston and Crandall families were eating. "What's the occasion?"

"Matching underwear," Sam states before I can even open my mouth," that's the only reason she's ever happy in the mornings." Jackson looks horrified at the thought of my underwear, but the two teens just give small snorts of laughter. "How long till Dean makes it downstairs?"

"Well, he just found out about the water pressure, so we might just have to drag him out of there," I reply, sitting beside Tyson and piling some bacon and scrambled eggs on my plate to nibble at. Sam makes a face, pouring himself a glass of orange juice and grabbing a piece of bacon for himself.

"You can, I'm not going near him when he's naked."

"Might we change the subject to something more appropriate," Jackson comments with a stern frown.

"Sure, Mister Cranston, what would you like to talk about?"

"It looks as though it might rain later, so you all should wear jackets when you…. When you go to that place." I can see Tyson balling his hands into fists under the table, the poor kid shaking from pure rage and grief.  _His sister was murdered right in front of him. I can't imagine what that kind of thing does to someone's head_. "Noah told me last night that you three were some of the best hunters in Oklahoma."

"He's right, I guess," I shrug, placing a comforting hand on Tyson's fist and squeezing a little until he stopped shaking so badly. "Just three weeks ago, Sam, Dean, and I took down a Pagan god that walked around as a scarecrow, and before that we took down a ghost that was messing with people's heads. This shouldn't be too hard once we know for sure what it is we're facing."

"You're facing a dead Hessian soldier," Tyson states firmly," I think he was some sort of ghost 'cause he kept flickering slightly like it was hard to keep himself together while he was killing my best friends."

"Has anything like this ever happened before? I mean, besides the whole legend of this place, has anyone been found missing a head?"

"No," Luka answers softly, pushing his glasses up his nose from where they'd slid down. "There hasn't been any suspicious deaths in seventy years or more, and all heads were accounted for." Sam and I share curious looks before looking towards the entryway when Dean waltzes inside, looking supremely pleased with himself.

"Are y'all ready to get going," he asks, pulling his jacket on.

"I want to come, too. It might help to have someone who knows the town with you. I can tell you some of the history while I'm at it."

"Luka, no," Anne shakes her head. "You shouldn't go to that place, it's morbid."

"Ma, you can't lock me in the house forever. I want to help in any way I can."

"I'll come too," Tyson nods and his mother starts to cry all over again, pushing away from the table and leaving the room with Anne right on her heels. "I was there, I can give all the details." He meets his father's glare at the head of the table, some of his blonde hair falling in his eyes. "I want to help nail the bastard that killed my baby sister."

"Alright," Jackson growls out, obviously as messed up over this as everyone else.

"Be careful, boys," Ryan adds in a softer tone," and you four as well. There's been enough death in this town to last a century." I stand with the others, slipping my feet into my boots and following everyone outside to the Impala.

"Luka and I can lead the way in my car," Tyson says, much more subdued than he was moments ago as he and his cousin get in an old Dodge pick-up and the rest of us get in Dean's car.

"You think it's smart having them come with us," Sam asks as Dean starts the car and follows the truck out onto the street that leads away from town. "I mean, couldn't it just traumatize those guys further than they already have been?"

"It could," Dean agrees," or it could help them feel a little better knowing they're helping put this thing back in the ground." I was on the fence about the whole thing since I had a more mothering nature than anyone else in the car, but I figure the boys will be the ones to decide what they want to do in the long run of things. "Liza, what do your Spidey Senses tell you about all of this?"

"They're not tingling quite yet," I answer, looking out my window at the countryside. There were a few houses lining the street this far out of town, but they were quickly growing few and far between as we move onto a dirt road. I suppose that might be why the guy walking in the tall grass caught my attention so abruptly, that and I would recognize him anywhere. The man was tall, around Dean's height, with dark brown hair that brushed the collar of his tee, an athletic build, and an ass that perfectly filled his Wranglers. My breath catches in my throat when he turns his head to look at the cars, blue eyes standing out against his tanned skin and dark stubble.

"Liza, you okay?"

"No," I gasp, shaking my head quickly and covering my face with my hands. "It's him!" I could feel the tears stinging my eyes and there was no possible way for me to hold them back. I feel Dean slam on his breaks and Archer latching onto my shoulders to keep me from flying into the front seat, but none of it really registered as my sobbing increased.  _It can't be him, that's impossible. But it was, I would be able to pick him out of a crowd, let alone an empty field like he was walking in_.

"It's who, Liza," Archer asks in concern, prying my hands away from my face and making me look at him. "Who did you see out there?"

"Did he have a pumpkin for a head," Sam adds, him and Dean looking at me over the front seat. I couldn't speak yet, struggling to breathe even as the world around me started to spin and grow dark around the edges. "Move!"

"What's going on- Hey! Don't shove me!" I could feel a new set of arms pulling me against a hard chest, the smell of leather and aftershave giving me some comfort, and the quiet humming grounding me back in reality. Slowly, everything returns to normal, though the tears don't stop completely.

"It's alright, Elizabeth," Dean murmurs into my hair as he continues rocking us back and forth. "I've got you, it'll be okay. Shh, you're safe here." I clutch tightly at the back of his jacket, the top of my head barely brushing his chin as he holds me tightly. "Just take some deep breaths, sweetheart." Despite his calm tone and soothing words, I could hear his heart beating ninety miles a minute in his chest. "You wanna tells us about it?"

"What's going on," I hear Luka ask before I feel one of Dean's arms leaving me for a second before returning.

"It's was him," I mumble finally, beginning to shake as it really sinks in. "It was him, Dean." I pull back just enough to meet his gaze, noting the worry and absolute helplessness that fill his green eyes. They were so beautiful, the type that you could fall in and never want to leave because everything else in the world seems dirty compared to their purity.

"It was who, Liza," Sam asks, his large hand resting on the back of my head with his thumb moving up and down in a soothing motion. "Who did you see in that field?"

"I saw Clarke."

"That's impossible, you killed him months ago." Sam didn't sound so sure and Dean was looking murderous as he peered over my head at the field behind us. "You stabbed him in the neck, we all saw him die, and then we put him in the ground."

"He was in that field!" I turn to point him out only to see that the field was empty now, my hand falling into my lap. "That's impossible, he was right there! He fucking smirked at me!"

"Easy, Liza, we'll go check it out, but you stay here with Luka and Tyson." I nod, watching the guys as they left the car and headed into the field in the direction I'd pointed while Tyson sits in the space Dean had vacated.

"Who's Clarke," Tyson asks, taking one of my hands in his.

"A cop from Tulsa, he was a psycho that murdered a few women before we caught up with him. He was trying to strangle me with his belt when I stabbed him in the throat with a broken beer bottle." Tyson's brown eyes go wide and he shares a look with his cousin over his shoulder. "What is it?"

"That guy's picture was on the news a few months back, they were talking about how he'd gone missing while investigating a serial killer that was going after blondes in their early twenties."

"We had a guy that matched his description show up in Sleepy Hollow a few weeks after they found what they thought to be his body," Luka adds, sitting in the driver's seat with his long legs hanging out. "Ty thought he was the cop at first, but then we saw the news bulletin about his remains being found and we just brushed it off."

"Yeah, we figured the guy was just the town drug dealer's new goon."

"Did he have a Voldemort-esque aura around him, like he could break your kneecaps and have you thanking him for it," I ask reluctantly, dreading their answer when they share another look.

"Uh-huh, I told my friends to steer clear of him when they went to buy their weed." Tyson lets out a disdainful scoff, glaring down at our hands. He was still holding one of mine in both of his, his hands making mine look like a Hobbit's. "He was always leering at Kelsey, like he wanted to devour her or something."

"Kelsey was your sister's best friend, right?" Tyson and Luka both nod, Tyson's jaw clenching as he fought back tears.

"Yeah," Luka whispers, voice breaking. "They were always together when it was possible." I look away from the boys as Sammy and the others rejoin us, Dean and Sam looking worse than they had earlier when I told them who I saw.

"What'd you find?"

"Footprints," Sam states sadly," looked like he started crawling away from the road at some point."

"I have news, too, these guys just confirmed that the Dark Lord is working with a drug dealer in town."

"Well," Dean sighs, scratching the back of his head," I s'pose we'll check that place out after we're done at the crime scene." He points a finger at me, his expression telling me that he would bind and gag me if I even thought about arguing with what he was about to say. "And you're staying your ass at the Cranston house where you're safe. I'll have Tyson sit on you if I have to. Understood?"

"Yes, boss."

* * *

We were halfway over the covered bridge that spanned across a lake when the Dodge in front of us came to a stop, the red break lights extinguishing when the truck was turned off and the boys got out. "I guess this is as far as our cars go," Dean remarks, cutting the ignition as our group join the two boys at the other end of the bridge. There were flecks of dark red on the wood where it had sprayed from a victim's neck. Tyson flinched at the sight of it, making a point to step around it and the dried blood soaked into the hard-packed dirt.

"That's where Henry Callaghan was caught," Tyson mutters, hands in his Letterman jacket pockets. "His blood…. It got on my face and all over my clothes. It was horrible. I don't know why the Horseman didn't get me too, I was only two feet away."

"The bridge," Luka informs him," the Horseman can't cross a covered bridge, it's in the legend."

"Yeah, well, you're the smart one in our family, Luke." In a show of affection, Tyson raises his hand to ruffle Luka's short hair, laughing under his breath when Luka sidesteps and smooths his hair down again with a frown. "Anyway, Logan was killed a few feet back, Brit and Kelsey were killed between here and the football field, and I didn't see Jamie getting killed, I was too busy running for my life."

"I was supposed to be there, but I had to study for the Algebra II test that I failed last Friday."

"I'm glad you were home." Before Luka could dodge him this time, Tyson wrapped him in a one-armed hug. Instead of fighting, Luka rests his head on his cousin's shoulder. "The, uh, Horseman was dressed in these weird black clothes and he had a cape that was pinned in place by two bright red rubies—like something from Zorro. He wore riding boots with the spurs on them that jingled when he moved, and a huge black horse." Tyson shudders, beginning to walk again towards the football field in the distance. A few feet away from where Henry was killed was another splotch of darkened blood. "Logan."

"Ty, maybe we should just head back to the house. You shouldn't have come here this soon."

"I got this, Luka."

"Maybe Luka's right," I say, struggling to keep up with all the long-legged people surrounding me. "Besides, it looks like it's about to pour some cats and dogs down on our heads." The clouds overhead were only a pale gray when we left the Cranston estate, but now they were almost black. If it was summer, then I'd be worrying about tornadoes.

"No, I want to get this done with before I head back home and face my dad for making my mother so upset." The whole time he talked, he was walking faster and now he was basically at a fast jog as we finally make it to the halfway point. "I-I told her to be careful, but how can you defend yourself against a ghost that comes out of nowhere?"

"You can't usually, Ty." There were three splotches here, two close together and one near the toe of Dean's boots.

"He tossed my sister's head at me and it landed right there." He points at the third blotch, and Dean makes a face, taking a couple of quick steps back.

"Alright," Sam sighs, squinting slightly as he looks towards the football field further down the road on our right. "So, James must've been killed, ah, about ten feet from here if that dried blood down there is where he bit it." I step hard on his foot for his insensitive remark, making the big guy jump up and down with a groan of pain.

"Remind me to stay on your good side," Dean whispers, leaning closer to me in a way that had his lips brushing my ear. I shiver from the brief contact, having to bite my lip to keep a pleasurable sigh from escaping and giving him smug satisfaction.

"Don't forget you said that, Dean," I return, delivering a playful slap to his ass before starting back the way I came. "Let's move, boys, we have some research to do if we want to take this headless freak down."


	43. 43

**How's everyone liking the original chapters? Even more interesting, how's everyone liking the season premier so far because I'm liking it! Hopefully they'll go back the scary stuff like they did in Season one.**

Dinner was an awkward as it was last night, no one feeling brave enough to start a conversation when all of us could hear Kayla crying in another room. Unlike his wife, Cranston refused to show anyone how upset he is with the death of his only daughter. He kept his lips pressed tightly together, blue eyes narrowed suspiciously, and his back so straight that I was surprised when it didn't just snap under the constant pressure. I poke at my green beans with my fork, just moving them around to make it look like I'd eaten more than I really had.

Seeing Clarke this afternoon had messed me up more than I ever thought was possible, bad memories coming back of how tightly that belt was around my neck, how I could feel the small bones about to give, and then his warm blood covering my hands as I stabbed him with the neck of a beer bottle. I could feel my hands start shaking again and my fork drops to the plate with a loud clatter that only drew attention to me.

"Sorry," I mumble, hiding my hands under the table. "I think I'm gonna head upstairs." I make a point to walk calmly all the way upstairs to my bathroom, then I start the shower and curl up in the corner of the room, crying softly to avoid being heard by anyone. I kept my knees drawn up against my chest, my forehead resting on my knees, and my fingers tugging on my hair to keep me from lapsing into the vivid memories. I've been attacked plenty of times before, but it's always been by monsters who have 'attack' programmed into their DNA. Humans were another thing entirely, I've only ever been attacked like that once before by a human, and I'm on a fucking field trip to rescue his dumb ass.

"Liza," Sam says quietly, sitting down on the floor beside me and wrapping a strong arm around my shoulders. He pulls gently until I was tucked against his side, both arms wrapped around me and his cheeks resting against the top of my head as I continue to cry. "We'll catch him, alright? We'll catch him and then we'll burn him to make sure he doesn't come back this time."

"T-thank you, Sammy."

"It's the other thing too, right? The John thing?" Sammy and Bobby knew the real reason Bobby threatened to blast John to Kingdom Come, but Dean was purposefully left out to spare him anymore damage. His dad was often drinking, trying to forget how badly he screwed up raising Dean and how he hadn't been able to save his wife. It was the drinking and bad memories that fogged his mind and he thought I was Mary. I had been working on sweeping out one of the sheds where Uncle B kept his classic cars when John stumbled inside and started grabbing at me. When I pushed him away, he delivered a hard slap that sent the world around me spinning and me right to the ground where he would have kicked me if Sam hadn't seen and ran for Bobby. "I wish you hadn't got involved in the hunt for Dad, then none of this would have happened."

"I'd be worried about you boys if I stayed at home." We stay like that in the bathroom for what feels like hours, Sam just holding me and whispering soothing words until my crying stopped and my shaking decreased dramatically. "Will you stay with me tonight? Like we used to when one of us had bad dreams?"

"Course I will, what kind of big brother would I be if I left you to fend for yourself like that?"

"You're only older by a whole fifteen hours, so stuff it." Laughing, Sammy easily scoops me up and carries me into my room where Dean was waiting on my bed. "Hey."

"Hey yourself," he returns, taking me from Sammy and depositing me beside him. "How you feeling?"

"Been better, I suppose." Sam excuses himself, going to take a shower and change into his jammies to let Dean and I have a moment by ourselves. "I'm sorry I got so emotional earlier, I know how weird it is."

"Don't apologize, Liza, there's no need for it. That bastard tried to murder you in your own motel room, I think you have more cause to get upset about seeing him than anyone else. Besides, when you get all teary-eyed, then I get to play the sensitive male and cuddle with you." I smile up at him, resting my head on his shoulder as he twined our fingers together, our joined hands resting on his leg. He was warm and he smelled amazing, I didn't want to leave his side even if the world began to end. Dean leans against the pile of pillows, pulling me with him and positioning us so that my head was against his chest and one of my legs was between both of his.

"You smell good."

"You don't smell so bad yourself, girly." I laugh a little under my breath, snuggling my head under his chin and wrapping one of my arms around his waist. Slowly, my eyes close and my breathing deepens until I'm lost to a dreamless sleep.

**THE NEXT MORNING**

When Sam woke up the next morning, he expected to be alone and comfortable, instead he had a blonde wrapped around him like some sort of mutant pretzel. He frowns down at his friend, wondering if she had always snored so loudly and how she'd managed to do this without waking him up in the first place. Wondering what would happen, he wiggled until he was at the edge of the bed, and then he stood up and stared down at Elizabeth in shock. She had managed to hang onto him tightly, but was still sound asleep, he head hanging limply.

"How in the hell…?"

"Hey, man, you ready to… Go…" Dean paused as he stared down at Liza, head tilted slightly as he shared Sam's question. "How is that even possible?" Suddenly, Liza's snoring cuts off and she falls to the ground with a shout, Sam and Dean still staring at her in some shock. She rubs her butt, staring around her in confusion until something dawns on her.

"I'm sleep walking again," she states, more to herself than to anyone else," fan-friggin-tastic." Grumbling under her breath, she got up and left the room, the sound of her shower starting up soon after as Sam and Dean are left behind to stare at each other.

"She's like Spider Woman or somethin."

"Right," Sam agrees, shaking his head with a smile. "What'd you need anyway?"

"Oh, uh, I was wondering if you were ready to go, but apparently you and Liza were challenging gravity."

"Gravity won."

"Yeah, well, get dressed and meet me downstairs. I wanna get outta here before Cranston wakes up and sends me that  _get off my lawn_ old man glare again." Sam nods as his brother leaves and closes the door, smoothing down his bed-head and getting dressed in a pair of comfortable jeans, a Stanford tee, boots, and his heavy jacket. Where it had been pretty nice in Stillwater, it was downright cold in Sleepy Hollow.

By the time he made it down the stairs and to the main hallway, the others were dressed and waiting for him, Liza still stumbling around trying to get her boots laced up. "Why don't you just sit down to do that?"

"Because," she grunts, still hopping in place," Dean bet me twenty bucks I couldn't tie my shoes without sitting or leaning on something." Finally, after nearly falling on her face a grand total of seven times, Liza straightens up with a sigh, holding her hand out in front of Dean's face. "Pay up, bitch." Looking put out, Dena pulls a twenty out of his wallet and slaps it on her open palm, Liza looking smug as she tucks it away in her bra.

"If you two are ready to be adults, can we get going," Archer asks, raising his brows. "I mean, really, how hard is it to act your age and not your shoe size?"

"I don't know, Archer, haven't you figured that out yet?" Archer rolls his eyes, letting Elizabeth shoulder past him before following after her. Sam just smiles as he and his brother follow after the, Sammy climbing in the front seat while Dean took his place behind the wheel, the gentle purr of the engine something both boys were intimately familiar with. He had to admit it, Sam had kind of missed the adrenaline rush he got when he solved a case and saved people—it was, after all, the family business—but he didn't much care for all the research and death that came with the job.

"Luka said the library was in the center of town across the street from the high school." Dean nods to show he heard Archer, navigating easily through the town even with the low amount of traffic that came with school days.

The high school looked like something you'd see in a zombie movie, the lights flickering from the heavy rain and the students wandering around campus in a sort of daze. This was the first day since the murders that school was in session, so it was understandable that no one was ready to go back. Sam shakes his head sadly, him and the others running up the stone steps to the library doors. Inside was warm and the lighting was dim, but the floor was slick under his wet boots until he made it up another set of stairs to the carpeted area. Like most libraries, this one had several bookcases set up in the middle of the room, windows set high up in the walls with wire over the outside of them, and a circulation desk set up on the right.

Sam moves to speak with the older woman behind the desk, giving her a polite smile. "Hi," he greets," I'm new here, so could you tell me if you guys had a microfiche I could look at?"

"Yes we do," the woman nods," you'll have to go down to the basement level and then into the genealogy room. You can ask the woman down there to help you find the tape you want to look at,"

"Thank you very much." Dean and Elizabeth had already wandered off to the history section, Elizabeth staring down at the book in her hands and Dean resting his hands on her hips and whispering something that had her grinning impishly up at him.

"When are those two ever going to start dating," Archer asks as he and Sam start back down the stairs to the entryway and then down another set to the basement.

"Whenever they pull the wool off their eyes and realize their feelings are deeper than sex." He had a feeling that they both knew how the other felt, but they were just staying apart to see how long it took for Sam to go crazy and force them to admit their feelings at knife point. There was a younger woman manning the desk downstairs, most of the books down there for children or teenagers, though Sam could see a ramp that led to a door with an  **adults only** sing taped to it. "We want to use the microfiche, please."

"Uh, right," the girl says, rising too quickly and almost falling. Archer caught her easily, a lifetime of fighting having his reflexes working better than most people's. The girl, a shy little redhead, blushes when Archer straightens her up, walking up the ramp with her head down.

"Really, dude?"

"What," Archer grins," it's not my fault that I look amazing."


	44. 44

Once we had gathered all we could at the library—much of it based on the legend written by Washington Irving—Sam and I decided to head to the diner to grab some lunch while Dean went to the local bakery to grab himself some pie for later, and Archer was hiking back to the bridge since the rain had stopped and the sun was struggling to break through the dark clouds. Like most Okies said, if you don't like the weather, then you just have to wait a minute. "Want your usual," Sam checks as I find us a table outside under the awning. I give him a nod, covering my seat with my jacket before sitting down.

It wasn't as chilly as it was earlier, so I could deal without a jacket long enough to eat and head back to the Cranston estate. Sleepy Hollow is barely larger than Davenport, but it seemed to have a few more things to do than people watching or drugs, so that was a plus. I had just settled back in my seat when I feel a set of hands massaging my shoulders. I thought it was Dean at first, trying to be flirty while Sam wasn't around to judge, but then I realized that Dean wouldn't lean down and sniff me.

"Want to take me home," the man asks in a low Southern drawl.

"Sorry," I state, pushing the calloused hands off of me as they started to go lower," the last random guy I took home fucked me and then tried to strangle me, so you can imagine why I'm a bit hesitant."

"Don't worry, Elizabeth, I'm just taking you to see an old buddy of yours." I stand and turn so fast that the chair topples onto its side, drawing attention from the patrons insider the diner and making the man in front of me grimace. "Really, such a fuss." He was around my height and I would probably consider him handsome if he didn't have an aura of  _I steal candy from babies_ that clung to him like a bad cologne.

"Who the hell are you?"

"I'm Kade Abrams and I need a small sacrifice on your part." The entire time I've been standing, he's had a hand in his pocket, and now he brought it out, releasing a powdery something or other from inside that hit me right in the face. As if that wasn't bad enough, the world was beginning to spin again and I found myself falling into Kade's arms. "I was hoping you'd come willingly, but Alexander did warn me how stubborn you were."

And then things went dark.

* * *

"What do you mean she's gone," Dean demands even as his brother begins to pace the entrance hall of the Cranston home. Dean runs a hand through his short hair, making the strands stick out at odd angles. "How could they just disappear, though?"

"No idea," Sam answers with a shrug," one second Liza looked ready to beat the guy, then he threw something in her face that had her passing out, and then they were gone in a puff of smoke. I'm telling you, this whole thing is probably tied to witchcraft!"

"Well, yeah, Sam, that's pretty obvious at this point!" Sam rolls his eyes at the unneeded sarcasm, stopping his pacing long enough to punch a hole in the wall closest to him. It hurt like hell, but it also grounded him. "Could you tell what the guy looked like?"

"Yeah, it was that dick we talked to yesterday that swore he wasn't using a dead criminal as his bodyguard."

"Then let's find where he hides out and kick his ass!"

"I'm coming," Tyson states as he and Luka walk inside. Dean begins to shoot down that idea when Tyson interrupts. "I know the fastest way out to the old barn where he makes everything, I can get you there in about ten minutes."

"I coming, too," Luka adds.

"The hell you are! You're the only one in this family that's gonna get anywhere in life, so I'm not putting you in danger because you feel the need to step up. You can fucking forget it." Luka looked ready to object, but Tyson took care of that by shoving him in the sitting room and locking the door from the outside. "Let's get goin', I have a rifle in my truck."

* * *

"You're an idiot!" On instinct, I could feel myself growing angry until I heard someone else screaming that they were the smartest person in the room and I realized I wasn't the one being called the idiot. After that I realized I couldn't move and I started an inward panic as I recalled what had happened at the diner. Slowly and struggling, I force my eyes open to take in the sight in front of me. Two fully grown men were in the middle of a screaming match, looking like an old married couple as they threw insults at each other.

The tallest one I could easily recognize as Clarke—you don't forget an ass like that even if the person it belonged to did try to kill you—and the other was harder to place. He wasn't nearly as tall as Clarke, but he had a presence that made everyone around him feel smaller somehow. He has a headful of dark curls and hazel eyes that would have killed Clarke on the spot if looks alone could do that. "You're just angry because you were too much of a little bitch to take her yourself," the man, Kade I think, shouts back at him.

"Well excuse me for not wanting to touch the woman that stabbed me in the goddamned neck!"  _The sarcasm is strong with this one_. "Hey, Frankenstein, the bitch is awake." Kade backhands Clarke hard enough that the taller man falls to the ground with a shout, clutching the side of his face that was already beginning to swell.

"Haven't you learned the proper way to talk about women?" Kade shakes his head in disgust before walking over to where I'm at, resting three of his fingers against my neck to check my pulse. "Good, you're reacting well to this. Can you move anything besides your eyes?" If I really could move, he'd be curled up on the floor and clutching at his manly pride because I'm one pissed off woman. "I'll take that as a no, then."  _A regular genius, this one_. I roll my eyes, attempting to see where I'm sitting, but most things were blurry since my glasses weren't on. "Don't strain too much, Elizabeth, you'll only hurt yourself."

He grabs a short length of chain and a padlock, using them to bind first one wrist and then the other to the arms of the chair; he used two more chains and padlocks to do the same to my ankles, appearing satisfied as he moved out of my sigh. "You're looking well for a kidnap victim." If I could move, I'd stab Clarke in the face for that comment.

"Don't torment her, Clarke." Kade comes back into sight with a needle and an elastic band—the band tied tightly around my upper arm to make my veins stand out. I let out a hiss as he inserts the needle, making sure the syringe was full before he signaled for Clarke to put a Band-Aid over the prick. "Give her the serum."

"Why? You promised I could kill her for what she did to me."

"And you will, but don't you want her to struggle? That is what gets you off, isn't it, Alexander?" Clarke scowls as he injects me with something that looked purple, tossing the needle in the trash. Feeling begins to come back to my fingers and toes first, slowly flooding to the rest of me until I can struggle against the chains keeping me in place. "Would you like to explain to her how you're still alive?"

"The witch brought me back," he grumbles with a glare sent Kade's way," told me if I wanted to stay that way, then I should come with him."

"Too bad you'll both be dead soon," I remark," I can't wait to stab you again."

"And how are you going to kill me, Elizabeth? Huh? Because, from where I'm standing, it looks like I have the upper hand in all of this."

"Well, from where I'm sitting, you also have a huge nose, but I wasn't going to bring that up until you got cocky."

"She has a point," Kade grins, mixing things together in a large brass bowl. "I know a great plastic surgeon if you want to fix all of that." Clarke growls, storming off to the other side of the room while Kade continues to stir things into the bowl. "Well, what do y'all say to summoning our headless accomplice? He's been itching to get his revenge against the Crane family, but he can't cross that damn bridge quite yet."

"How did my life come to this? One day I'm a relatively normal kid that liked to color and the next I'm some looney that rushes headlong into danger because my favorite superstition popped into reality. I'm certifiable."

"All the interesting people are, sweetie pie."

"Yeah, that's real comforting coming from a sociopath that has no motive to kill people using a guy that's been dead since the revolutionary war."

"Do you see me judging you, blondie?" I'd opened my mouth to reply when a door is smashed in, the sound of muffled cursing making me smile and relax back in my chair.

"No, but you're about to have your teeth knocked down your throat since my reinforcements are here."


	45. 45

“Dean,” I scream from the back of the house, fighting to get through the chains. “We’re back here! Clarke—“ Clarke delivers a hard slap that set my world spinning and my head snapping to the side, my cheek already beginning to sting and swell. “In the back!” Clarke, eyes wild, runs across the room to grab a police issued shotgun, but no shells.  _You gonna use it as a bat or what, buddy?_

“Liza,” Dean shouts back. I could hear the rapid footsteps as Dean comes closer to the backroom. “We’re comin’, just hang on!” Unlike Clarke, who was in panic mode as he stood with his back against the wall near the door, Kade was completely calm as he struck a match and dropped it in the bowl, a plume of green smoke and a smell like sulfur rising from it.

“It’s a witch!” Tyson was the first inside the room and almost had his head taken off when Clarke swung the rifle, but he grabbed it and used Clarke’s momentum to swing him to the ground. Kade let the bowl drop to the ground as Dean and Sam came in, holding a large hunting knife against my throat. “He’s also a dick, but I’m pretty sure you got that by now.”

“Too late, Dean,” Kade informs him,” Horseman will be here any second and he’ll be glad that you brought Tyson with you.”

“Why,” Ty asks breathlessly, having finally knocked Clarke unconscious with the butt of his rifle.

“Because your family basically ruined this town! We’re falling apart and most people don’t want to come anywhere near here because of that damn legend.”

“Not why are you doing this, why shouldn’t I kill you right now? It doesn’t take a genius to know that I can blow your head off without even wounding Elizabeth.” He had a point, my head stopped low on Kade’s chest and his head was in plain view.

“You kill me and no one can control the Horseman.”

“Then why’d you need my blood,” I demand. “Why kidnap me and bring them down on your head?” I get no immediate answer to that, the knife in Kade’s hand beginning to shake as the sound of hoof beats grows louder and louder. “Ah hell, we’re on the wrong side of the bridge.”

“Soon, it won’t matter what side of the bridge we’re on because I’m going to help him destroy all of Crane’s descendants and he’ll help me bring this town back to its original glory.”

“What do you know about the town’s original glory,” Tyson glowers from across the room, tightening his hold on his rifle.

“I was here the day this town was founded! I helped your ancestor build everything and I even taught him the spells needed to imbue the fields with enough magic that they would never falter! All he had to do in return was help my father during the war and he turned him out because he was fighting on the wrong side! To rub salt in the wound, he had my father decapitated and then buried in an unmarked grave!”

“Well, you had your dead daddy chop off my baby sister’s head right in front of me, almost all of my friends died that night too and I went home wondering whether or not to join them! So fuck you and your grudge.”  Ty had his rifle raised right as the Horseman crashed through a window somewhere in the house, the hoof beats echoing loudly in my ears. “I have an idea that he’ll leave if I kill you.”

“Unchain me, Kade,” I demand,” unchain me right now so I have a fighting chance.”

“No,” he returns quickly, voice going high,” he’ll need to feed and what better victim than someone with your bloodline, Elizabeth?”

“Dead things aren’t drawn to Chosen, they’re repelled.”

“Usually, yeah, but yours, like so many others, is a little different, it’s been tweaked. It goes all the way back to the source.” The Horseman comes into view now, swinging his saber threateningly as he reared the horse. Sam pushes Tyson out of the way right as the hooves come down, hitting the ground hard enough to smash a skull. “Father!” Its shoulders turn towards Kade, the only way to tell that it could hear anything since there was no head.

“This is so not how I pictured meeting the Headless Horseman.” I bend as far forward as I can in the seat, pulling out the bobby pin I always keep hidden in my thick hair, and beginning to work on one of the locks as well as I'm able. It was an awkward position and my wrist was beginning to cramp up.Dean, ever the optimist, shoots the Horseman, silver bullets burying in his chest and knocking him off the horse. A deep grumbling comes from the corpse as it rises again, slowly as though it did feel the sting of the bullets.

“Bullets can’t stop my Father, Winchester, not now.” The lock springs open, allowing me a free hand to work on the other lock keeping the chains around my right wrist.

“Tyson, get behind us,” Dean shouts as the Horseman swings out with the saber. Tyson’s barely able to dodge the blow, falling to his knees and rolling behind Sam. Hands shaking in my hurry, I almost drop the pin before getting the other lock open, Kade only noticing when the chain hits the ground. I grab his wrist in both hands, grappling with him to keep the knife away from my throat.

I squeeze tightly, pushing his hand closer to his arm until I felt the bone snap through the skin and Kade falls backwards with a shriek. I use the pin to open the other two locks before jumping up and grabbing the knife.

“Hey,” I yell to get the Horseman’s attention,” free meal right here, sweet cheeks!” I let out a hiss, using the knife to slice my palm, blood dripping to the ground as I clench my hand into a fist. It was stinging, my face was throbbing, and my heart was beating ninety miles a minute, but I had a decent idea of what needed to happen. “Come on, bitch!”

“Liza, what the hell are you doing,” Sam questions, keeping Tyson from charging the dead guy.

“Distracting him.” The Horseman’s spurs jingle as he stalks closer to me and I back up against the wall. “Dean, salt and burn at any moment.”

“Getting it,” Dean says, scrambling over to the duffel bag. I let out a shout as the Horseman swings his sword, the blade creating a whole in the plaster when I jump out of the way at the last minute. “Hold on, honey!”

“I don’t know how long I can hold it, Dean!” I dance further out of the saber’s reach, the metal seeming to sing as it cuts through the air. I thought I was doing a good job until I trip over an unconscious Kade, the air sweeping out of my lungs as I hit hard. The Horseman raised his saber again, preparing to strike when Tyson tackles him to the floor and stays on top of him, kneeling on his chest and holding down his wrists. “Dean, now!”

Dean runs over, taking care not to let any gas hit Tyson while I snatched the canister of salt and started on it, Sam moving to snatch the saber out of the Horseman’s hand.

“Tyson, move out of the way.” Tyson rolls off seconds before Sammy drops a light match on the Horseman, the corpse letting out an inhuman screech before turning to a pile of ash, his saber crumbling away in Sammy’s grasp. “Why did all of this feel too easy?”

“Who cares? We’re all alive and the headless assface is roasting somewhere.” Dean helps me up while Tyson delivered a hard kick to Kade’s side that forced him to wake up and Sam moved to drag Clarke into the room.

“Are you okay,” Dean asks quietly, steering me further away from the others. “I mean, Clarke didn’t…?”

“No.” I shake my head, offering up what I hope to be a reassuring smile. “I’m fine, Dean.”

“Are you? I mean, you were chained to a chair for an hour at least and had to face the bastard that tried to murder you. There’s no way in hell you’re actually fine.” He had that earnest look on his face, his green eyes focused solely on me as he read my body language. “Don’t shut down on me, Liza.”

“Are you gonna be my on-the-road therapist.” I meant it as a joke, but Dean just shrugs, cupping my face gently.

“If you need one, then I’ll find you one.”

“Guys,” Sam calls,” Clarke’s awake.” I turn to stare at the man that’s been causing me nightmares since the day he attacked me, taking in his freshly broken nose and bloodied lip. He didn’t look nearly as handsome now and he certainly wasn’t threatening chained to a chair.

“Gee, Clarke,” I remark sarcastically,” looking pretty good for a kidnap victim.” He sneers up at me, making himself comfortable in the chair. “Who’s going to do this? Killing Kade will kill Clarke too.”

“I want to,” Tyson says quietly, picking his hunting rifle back up. “My family needs its justice.”

“No, Ty, this will weight on your conscious and you won’t be the same.”

“I know.” He faces where they’d propped Kade against the wall, the witch holding his broker arm tightly against his chest as he rocked back and forth. Tyson takes a deep breath, holding the rifle tightly against his shoulder as he aims, and releasing the breath as he squeezes the trigger. The bullet zips through the air and buries into the wall, leaving a hole in Kade’s chest.

In response to that, Clarke lets out a pained grunt, instinctively trying to grasp at his chest as a pool of scarlet blooms against the white tee. After just a few seconds, Clarke was staring blindly ahead of him, chest still. “I don’t see him coming back anytime soon this time.”

Dean stows the remaining bags in the trunk, his side aching from where he'd had to shoulder the front door of Kade's hideout open. The others were busy saying their goodbyes, but Dean was too busy trying to stay awake. He’d spent most of the night awake, watching over Liza as she slept fitfully—the blonde letting out small whimpers of fear and mumbling until Dean eventually took her into his arms.

As Dean shut the trunk, Liza and Sammy walked over and got in their usual places inside the Impala, Dean following suit with a quiet hiss as he settles in the passenger’s seat, pushing Sam over until he occupied the driver’s seat. “You okay,” Sam asks, taking the keys and starting the ignition.

“Peachy,” Dean answers, resting his head against the back of the seat. He didn’t completely relax until he felt Liza’s fingers running through his short hair, the feel of them familiar and soothing since his mother had done the same to him when he was younger. It meant he was safe. “Asshole’s not tagging along?”

“Nope,” Liza sighs, resting her forehead against his,” he had this crazy notion we might hurt him since he didn’t show up until everything was taken care of.” Dean grins, breathing in the sweet scent that he always associated with Liza, the one that meant he was really home and really loved by someone that wasn’t related to him. Her and Sammy and Bobby, they were the ones Dean needed to survive in this unbalanced world. They were his real family.

_ Oh music/you made me hear such music/Without you here to guide me/I fear my soul will fly away/Sorry/that's the word I want to sing to you/The other word is "Stay"/To hear the love I meant to say _


	46. FAITH

Everyone was in a rush to get out of the car the second it was parked in front of a condemned house, the Winchesters and I hurrying to grab the needed weapons in order to save the two missing children being held hostage inside. "What do you got those amped up to," Sam asks, referring to the Tasers we'd have to use.

"100,000 volts," Dean answers, handing Sam and I one of our own.

"Damn."

"Yeah, I want this Rawhead extra freakin' crispy. Remember, you only get one shot with these things, so make it count." We lower the false bottom in the trunk and then the top of the trunk before starting for the house. "Liza, these things are strong, so stay close, alright?"

"Yes, boss," I nod. Using a Taser was still a new thing for me, so I just hope I don't accidentally Taser myself on accident. Knowing Rawheads preferred dark and damp hiding places, we went straight for the basement door, Dean kicking it open and shining his flashlight down the stairs. I was stick just behind the two boys, having to stand on my tiptoes in order to see over their shoulders.

Carefully and quietly, we start down the stairs, staying close to each other like we were taught to do when hunting one of these fuckers—Dean going first, then Sam with me bringing up the rear as a backup for the backup. A sudden, rapid tapping has all of us turning to the right, Tasers raised and our fingers on the triggers. Dean nods to an old wooden cabinet, Sam and I joining his side again as we approach it.

"On three," Dean whispers," One…Two…Three." He swings the doors open quickly, finding the children instead of the monster. The little boy and girl were curled up in the bottom of the cabinet, filthy and shaking from fear and cold.

"Is it still here," Sam asks in a whisper, the little boy giving a fearful nod. I tuck the Taser away in the back waistband of my jeans and pick him up, smoothing down his dark hair and humming a quiet lullaby.

"It's gonna be okay. Grab my brother's hand and we'll take you two home." The little girl practically launches herself into Sammy's arms and the pair of us start running for the stairs, more concerned with getting the kids out alive than keeping quiet anymore. We were halfway up the stairs when a hand reached out and latched onto Sam's ankle, Sam barely able to hand the little girl off to me before tumbling down. "Keep going, Liza!"

With a nod, I take the little girl's hand and run as fast as I can without dragging her. For the house to be relatively small, there were a lot of obstacles in the way of the front door, the Rawhead making his own little maze to keep the kids confused if they ever tried to sneak out. Luckily for all of us, I'm impatient as hell and just push the shit out of my way in order to get the kids outside.

"I want my mommy," the little girl was crying as she climbs in the backseat of the Impala.

"I know, honey," I murmur, buckling both kids in for when we make out getaway. "We're gonna get you both back home, alright? You're safe now." I look up when the front door bangs open again a few minutes later, Sam basically dragging Dean out of the house and laying him across the front seat. "What the hell happened?" Dean was out cold and an ashen color that didn't bode well.

"He was electrocuted," Sam answers, almost shaking too badly to hand over the keys. "We gotta get him to the hospital." I yank the keys out of his hand and move to the driver's seat, quickly adjusting the mirrors and waiting long enough for Sammy to pile into the backseat and shut his door before speeding away from the abandoned community. With one hand on the wheel, I use the other to slap lightly at Dean's face, wanting nothing more than for him to grin up at me and yell surprise, but he doesn't even crack an eye open and he was getting so cold.

"I'll drop you two off at the hospital and then take the kids home before heading back." I can see Sammy nod in the rearview mirror, his brown eyes panicked even as he tried to keep a brave face in front of the little ones. "He'll be alright, Sammy, we both know how stubborn Dean is at this point."

"I know." But our voices still shook and I still kept praying under my breath for Dean to make it out of this okay. He had to or else I don't' know what I'd do. At this point, Hunting is my life again and Dean is the only person keeping me grounded most days. I pull up next to the emergency room doors, jumping out with Sam to help him get Dean inside. "Help," I shout once we enter, struggling to keep my grip under Dean's arms as his dead weight seems to grow heavier.

A few staff members and people in the waiting room look up, a male nurse running over with a wheelchair and taking Dean from me. "I'll call you if anything happens, but you need to get those kids home." I nod, casting one last look at Dean over my shoulder before hurrying out again.

"Will he really be okay," the little boy asks, holding tightly to his sister as I start to drive again.

"Yeah," I nod, pressing my foot down harder on the accelerator to get this finished quicker. "He's the strongest guy I know, kind of like Superman." I give them a weak smile, coming to a stop outside the only house with a police car parked out front. The kids are out of the car even faster than I am, sprinting across the lawn and into the house with me following behind to lie to the police about where I'd found them.

Once that was finished and the cops were satisfied that I wasn't a deranged kidnapper, I find my way back to the hospital, running up to the nurse's station to find out what room Dean was in. "Can I help you," the nurse on duty asks.

"My boyfriend was brought in a few minutes ago, he'd been electrocuted."

"Liza," Sam calls from down the hall, waving me over to him. I run over to him, shouldering past everyone that got in my way until I'm standing right in front of Sammy. "The doctor just left."

"Is he gonna be okay?"

"Dean had a bad heart attack and they said there's nothing we can do. He might have a month left." That had my stomach doing flips and I was suddenly grateful that I hadn't eaten anything today or else it might have just come back up on poor Sammy's shoes.

"Oh, horse shit! We'll find something to get him back on his feet."

"My thoughts exactly. Come on, let's get inside so you can chew him out." The truth was that I didn't even have the energy to chew anyone out at the moment, so I just curled up next to Dean in the narrow hospital bed, one of my legs between both of his with my head on his shoulder. Dean looked awful, the circles under his eyes were dark, his skin was still pale and a little clammy, and there was a slight tremor in his hands as he wraps one arm around me and uses his free hand to flip through channels.

"Ever actually watch daytime TV," he asks without looking away from the small TV screen. "It's terrible."

"I talked to your doctor," Sam tells him, hesitating near the door.

"That fabric softener teddy bear? I want to hunt that little bitch down."

"Dean." Dean finally turns the TV off and sets the remote down on the bed beside him, his free hand moving to cover the one I had across his stomach.

"Right, well, looks like the two of you are leaving town without me."

"The  _hell_  we are," I snap, wanting nothing more than to slap his chest, but refraining for fear that I would only cause more damage. "I'm not leaving when you're in the hospital, Dean, you can forget it."

"Listen, Liza, someone has to make sure Sammy eats all his vegetables." He turns his gaze on Sam now, looking too worn out for my liking. "And you better take care of that car or, I swear, I'll haunt your ass." I roll my eyes, feeling his chest vibrate as he lets out a weak laugh.

"I don't think that's funny," Sam returns.

"Come on, it's a little funny." There was a brief silence filled with the tension of everything Sam and I want to say, but can't bring ourselves to. I couldn't lose Dean yet, not when we're all still too young, but every one of us knew this might happen at some point. Hunting is a dangerous lifestyle that often results in premature death, I should know that best of all since my dad died on a hunt. "Look, Sammy, what can I say, man? It's a dangerous gig and I drew the short straw. That's it, end of story."

"Don't talk like that, alright? We still have options."

"What options? You got burial or cremation." I stiffen as I listen to him, not liking how resolved he sounds about it all. "I know it's not easy, but I'm gonna die. And neither of you can stop it." His voice breaks, letting on to how he was really feeling about it all. The tremors in his hands increase, and he tightens the hold he has on me.

"Watch me. Liza, stay with him, alright?"

"Where else am I gonna go," I ask, mustering up a sad smile for Sammy. He nods, patting Dean's foot before walking out and closing the door behind him. "You're not allowed to die yet, do you understand me," I state, sitting up in order to look into Dean's impossibly green eyes.

"Relax, I'm not going until I'm good and ready." He tugs gently on a strand of my blonde hair that had fallen from behind my ear. "You know I love you, right?"

"Yeah, of course." I nod, brows furrowed as I stare down at him. I've known him since I was a baby, it'd be weird if we weren't at least fond of each other. Dean just gives a little shake of his head, closing his eyes for a moment as if he were getting ready to do something he wasn't entirely sure about. "Dean?"

And then he was pulling me down and kissing me like he's never kissed me before, full of emotions and tasting of whisky and chocolate. His lips were soft as they moved against mine and the passion he put into it wasn't of the sexual variety that I had grown used to. This was something else altogether that left my head spinning and everything else fading into the background. For those few blissful moments, it was just Dean and me in the bed and nobody else in the world mattered. Just as suddenly as he kissed me, he was lying back in bed, leaving me dazed and breathing hard, eyes closed.

"That was…" I trail off, letting out a slow breath as I open my eyes again to stare at him. He had a bit of color in his cheeks and his eyes were glittering even in the poor lighting of the hospital room. If it hadn't been for his heart monitor beeping a little faster than it had been, I would've thought the kiss hadn't had the same effect on him that it had on me.

"Yeah," he grins, pulling me down to rest against him again, holding me gently and resting one hand on my hip while the other played with the loose strands of my hair. I'd had it in a braid at the start of the day, but it must have come undone sometime after dinner. "When I said I loved you earlier, I meant that I  _love_ you. You're basically the only woman out there that likes me for more than the sex."

"I love you, too."

"Don't say it just because I'm dying."

"If I didn't love you, then I wouldn't feel like I'm losing part of myself right now." I bite my lip, glaring at the wall like it was responsible for this entire mess. "You leave me and I'll bring you back to kill you myself." Dean laughs softly, placing a kiss on the crown of my head. "Please don't leave me yet, Dean."

"I won't go until I have to, Liza." There's a moment of quiet where we just laid there, holding each other and taking comfort like we did when we were little. "Sing something for me."

"Sorry, I only sing in the shower."

"Just this once, then." Rolling my eyes, I give him a nod and rack my brain to figure out something to sing to him.

" _Stars shining bright above you, night breezes seem to whisper 'I love you' _, birds singing in the sycamore tree—dream a little dream of me__.  _Say 'nighty-night' and kiss me, just hold me tight and tell me you'll miss me. While I'm alone and blue as can be, dream a little dream of me. Stars fading, but I linger on, dear, still craving your kiss. I'm longing to linger till dawn, dear, just saying this. Sweet dreams till sunbeams find you, sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you, but in your dreams—whatever they be, dream a little dream of me. Stars fading, but I linger on, dear, still craving your kiss. I'm longing to linger till dawn, dear, just saying this. Sweet dreams till sunbeams find you, sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you, but in your dreams—whatever they be-"_

_"Dream a little dream of me."_

**The song is 'Dream a Little Dream of Me' by Ella Fitzgerald.**


	47. 47

"What the hell are you two doing here," Sam demands when he opens the motel room door, his eyes flicking from Dean to me as I struggle with one of Dean's arms around my shoulders.

"I checked myself out," Dean replies in a hoarse voice. I help him further into the room and over to one of the chairs, sitting him down and letting out a squeak when he pulls me down onto his lap.

"Liza, why didn't you just sit on him?"

"Sorry," I apologize sarcastically," I really should've thought of that."

"I tickled her until she slid off the bed," Dean explains, poking at my side and making me squeak again. He knew my sides could be ticklish and he did that on purpose. I glare down at him, tempted to slap the back of his head no matter how bad he looks. There's a light sheen a sweat on his face and the black hoodie he wore practically swallowed him. "And I'm not gonna die in a hospital where the nurses aren't even hot."

"Oh please, Gunther was pretty good looking." It's Dean's turn to give me a look, arching one of his thin eyebrows. It's really not fair that his eyebrows look better than mine and he doesn't even wax them. I move my gaze from Dean to Sam, taking in the bruises under his eyes and how his hair was unnaturally messy. Dean notices his brother's disheveled appearance too, wrapping his arms around my waist as he looks up at the other man.

"How long has it been since you slept, Sammy?"

"Three days," Sam answers distractedly," I've been scouring the Internet, calling every contact in Dad's journal…."

"For what?"

"For a way to help you. One of Dad's friends, Joshua, he called me back, told me about a guy in Nebraska—a specialist."

"You sound as bad as Liza, she's spent the last three days on the phone with Zane and Archer trying to find ways to keep me alive. Why can't all of you just let me die in peace?"

"Because we're stubborn asses," I reply quickly, looking at him over my shoulder," and because we love you. You sit here and watch cat videos on YouTube while Sammy and I pack." He smacks my ass as I stand, waggling his eyebrows when I jump and look back at him. "Boy, it's a good thing you're dying or I'd wipe that look off your face."

"You know you like being spanked, Liza."

"Still in the room," Sam calls, waving his arms," no naughty talk until I'm not within hearing range."

"Oh please, Sammy, big brothers are supposed to scar little brothers for life."

* * *

I look around as I get out of the Impala, not at all impressed with what I was seeing. Instead of a nice building—or even a building at all—there was a large white tent set up in the middle of a muddy parking lot with a sign in front of it proclaiming it to be 'The Church of Roy Le Grange, Faith Healer.' How anyone here didn't just go home even sicker than they already were was beyond me, but I won't look a gift horse in the mouth. "I got you." Sam's words make me look over at him as he helps Dean out of the passenger's side.

"I got it," Dean grunts, not wanting to feel weak by accepting Sammy's help. "Man, you're a lying bastard. I thought you said we were goin' to see a doctor." Dean shuts the door, automatically reaching for my hand and twining our fingers together as we start to walk towards the tent.

"Technically," I comment," he said we were going to see a specialist, and you can just suck it up, cupcake, because we're trying this out."

"Yeah, if he's so good at his job, then why is he doing it in a tent?"

"Reverend Le Grange is a great man," a passing woman remarks, Dean making a face at her words.

"That's nice." The next people we pass are a man and a police officer, the man arguing about how Le Grange is a fraud. _Well, that's not helping Sam's case any_. "I take it he's not part of the flock."

"Well, when people see something they can't explain, there's controversy," Sam argues.

"Yeah, but come on, Sam—a Faith Healer?" I move to stand in front of Dean, forcing him to stop with my hand on his shoulders and a look on my face daring him to try something. He rolls his eyes, but doesn't say anything, hands instinctively resting on my hips and pulling me a bit closer to him until we were practically squished together.

"You are going to walk in that tent," I state in a no-nonsense tone," you are gonna let that guy do whatever it takes to heal your stubborn ass, and you are going to keep your mouth shut about it because I will personally break every bone in your body if you don't. Is that understood?"

"Don't be so—"

"Is that understood," I ask louder, shaking him he tiniest bit. He may be bigger than me, but even Dean knew not to test me when I got into one of my moods.

"Yes, ma'am." He ducks his head and starts walking again when I move out of his way, Sam sending an amused look my way. It wasn't the first time I'd put Dean in his place using a threat of violence and I doubt it would be the last time, but it still filled me with smug satisfaction whenever it worked. "Y'all coming in or not?" Smiling, I loop my arm through Sammy's and follow Dean into the tent, looking around at the metal folding chairs, the stage near the front, the microphone stand, and a nice piano set up on the stage.

"This is like some Time Lord shit, bigger on the inside and all that."

"A fire hazard is more like it." Dean points at the candles spread around on the stage and then at the very flammable fabric of the tent. "This place goes up in flames and you two are getting one hell of a told you so after we die." Sam slaps the back of his head, leading Dean and me to three chairs closest to the front, instructing Dean to take the aisle seat. "Liza, do I really have to do this?"

"Every bone in your body," I remind him without even looking at him. And older couple walked up onto the stage, the man standing behind the lectern. He was obviously blind, the walking stick and sunglasses giving me that much, tanned, a little on the heavy side, with white hair that was slowly disappearing from the top of his head. The woman that helped him up on the stage wasn't much younger, her brown hair going gray in places.

"Each morning," he starts," my wife, Sue Ann, reads me the news. Never seems good, does it?" The crowd murmurs their agreement and I spare a look Dean's way. He still didn't look happy and he was paler than when we first got here, but he wasn't complaining and he didn't blame me because he reached over to grasp my hand. "Seems like there's always someone committing some immoral, unspeakable act. But I say to you, God is watching and God rewards the good, and he punishes the corrupt. It is the Lord that doesn't the healing here, friends, the Lord who guides me in choosing who to heal by helping me see into people's hearts."

"Or into their wallets," Dean mutters as almost everyone in the tent calls out an 'amen'.

"You think so, young man?" I snort when Dean realizes he's been caught, his mouth opening and closing a few times and his green eyes going slightly wide. I nudge Dean with my elbow and then nod towards Roy, my expression the stern one I use with my niece whenever she says something rude.

"Sorry."

"No, don't be. Just watch what you say around a blind man because we got real good hearing." The people around us laugh at that, even Roy manages a smile, but Dean still looks uneasy. "What's your name, son?"

"Dean."

"Dean." Roy nods with another smile, gesturing for Dean to join him. "I want you to come up here with me. Applause starts up and I give Dean's hand a reassuring squeeze.

"I'm good, Liza."

"No you're not," I argue just loud enough for him to hear me," and you won't be good until you let him work his mojo on you."

"Young lady, why don't you walk your friend up here," Roy suggests. "Maybe he'd be less apprehensive with a good friend."

"You got it." I stand and force Dean up as well, guiding him up to the stage and then up the short set of stairs until he was standing in front of Roy. "What's your name, ma'am?"

"Elizabeth Mayson."

"Pleased you all could make it." I nod until I remember he can't see me, then I blush hard and share a look with Dean

"Uh, yeah, you're welcome." Roy places a hand on Dean's shoulder, still smiling, though it was beginning to get a little creepy since no normal person should smile that much.

"Are you ready, Dean?" Dean looks my way with a scowl, but the look I give him had him scared enough not to complain too much about it.

"What if I'm not a believer like the rest of these people," he asks.

"No worries, you will be when this is over." Then Roy turns his head to look out at the crowd—er, hear the crowd?—continuing to speak to them. "Pray with me, friends. Like a kid scared of the monster under his bed, Dean reaches out for my hand and holds it tight enough to make me wince in pain. The hand Roy had on Dean's shoulder moves up to grasp the side of his head, Dean looking uncomfortable at the action, but keeping his mouth shut. "Alright, now." Dean grows paler if possible, swaying and making pained expressions before slowly sinking to his knees in front of Roy.

"I have you, Dean," I whisper, kneeling beside him with my free arm wrapped around his waist. "It's gonna be okay, I'm still here." A moment later, Dean was swaying again, his eyes crossing just before he fell back against me, unconscious. "No, Dean," I gasp, cradling his limp body against me. "Come on, wake up! Wake up!" With an intake of breath that shook his entire body, Dean's eyes snap open and he looks around him at Sam and me. I'm not sure when Sam made his way up here, but he looked just as scared for his brother as I did. _Please say we didn't just fuck everything up_.

"Liza," Dean rasps, pointing at something over my shoulder. I turn to look, but only see Roy and nothing that would cause the sudden look of fear on Dean's face.

"It's okay, I've got you, you're safe now."

* * *

"What do you mean a guy's heart gave out the same time Dean got healed," Zane demands over the phone, leaving his bedroom and making his way to the kitchen where the coffee was waiting for him.

"I mean exactly that," Elizabeth returns," we checked with the coroner and found out that the guy died at the exact second Dean was healed. Sam says not to look a gift horse in the mouth, Dean's getting a little obsessed over the whole thing, and I don't know what to think, so I called you." Zane makes a face as he pours creamer into his coffee, stirring it absently as he thought through it all. "You still there, Zane?"

"Last I checked." He nods even though Elizabeth couldn't see and he took his coffee mug with him into the living room, plopping down on the couch in front of the TV. It was almost noon in Oklahoma and the only show of interest that was on was that Doctor Who show that Archer and Liza were obsessed with. He runs a hand through his hair, the ends sticking up all over his head as he settles on watching Home Improvement. "I can't think of anything that could do what you described, Liza."

"Alright, well, thanks anyway." He could hear her disappointed sigh over the phone and it tore at him since he knew how much she cared about Dean. No matter how much they had fought during their childhood, they had grown close as teenager and now Zane was waiting on the day that they announced their feelings to the public—the public being himself, Sammy, and Bobby.

"Hang on and I'll ask Archer if he knows anything about it."

"Is Archer still rooming with you?" Zane looks over his shoulder at his bedroom, remembering the past few weeks vividly.

"Uh, yeah, it's working pretty well since we're hunting together a lot now." So it was half a lie, but he and Archer _did_ hunt together when a case popped up, but they mainly had sex and argued over whether Batman or Superman would win in a fight. Obviously Batman would win, all he had to do was shoot Superman up with Kryptonite and the fight would be over.

"Call me back when you find out?"

"No, just hang on a sec." He sets his phone down on the low coffee table beside his cup before walking back into his bedroom where Archer was sprawled across the bed, the covers tangled around his legs and his drool coating one of Zane's favorite blue pillowcases. _He's going to be on laundry duty for a week_. "Noah," he calls, shaking the other man's shoulder. "Come on, it's time to get up."

"Don't wanna," Noah grumbles, turning onto his side so that his back was facing Zane.

"Liza's on the phone and needs advice about a case." Noah makes a noise of annoyance, but still doesn't get out of bed, so Zane does something that would cause Archer to hop out of bed in about ten seconds flat. "You asked for it, Babe." Zane crosses the room and pushes the curtains open, sunlight filling the room and making Archer sit straight up in bed, leveling a glare in Zane's direction. Zane's blue eyes widen when he realizes how much of a mistake he'd made, trying to sprint out of the room only to have Archer tackle him to the ground with a shout.

_Can't I just cancel Monday mornings?_


	48. Chapter 48

I look up when Dean walks into the motel room, my Kindle propped up on my knees as I scroll through the various websites on lore. So far I haven't been able to find anything, and the guys back in Oklahoma were going through books that Zane had locked up in his attic. Sam looks my way, both of us engaging in a sort of staring contest to see who'd be the one to break the bad news to Dean this time. "Find out anything," Dean asks, standing near the small table that Sam was seated at. My eyes were beginning to sting when Sam finally blinks and looks away.

"I'm sorry," he says a moment later, blinking rapidly as I do the same.

"Why, what'd you do?" Dean looks my way before his eyes dart around the room as though checking to make sure Sammy hadn't done something to Dean's stuff as a prank. "You didn't put hair dye in my shampoo again, did you?"

"What? No."

"Because I swear I'll get you back if you did."

"Dean, shut up and listen to me." I set my Kindle aside and move to stand next to Dean, wrapping my arms around his waist and resting my cheek against his chest as his arms go around me. "Marshall Hall, the guy that died from the heart attack…. It happened the same time you got healed by Le Grange." Dean's arms tighten around me, not enough to be painful, and I can feel him stop breathing for a second.

"The exact same time?"

"Yeah, man. Liza, Archer, and Zane have been making their way through the lore to try and find out what's doing this while I made up a list of everyone that's died in this town on the same dates that people have been healed. There have been six so far this year and all the healings correspond with deaths, and the deaths were caused by the same things that Le Grange had healed."

"It's crazy," I add," because I can't find anything that matches up to this. What if Roy is some kind of mutant and he doesn't realize that he's not actually helping anyone with his power?"

"It doesn't matter," Dean states, dropping down into the free chair and pulling me down with him. "Marshall Hall died to save me and that's not right. I should be dead and he should be doing laps around in that fucking swimming pool he died at. You guys should've just let me die in that motel room instead of bringing me here."

"Don't you think you deserved to be healed?" I cup his face in my hands, making him look at me to see how much it would have killed me if he'd died. "You of all people have a right to live after all the crap that's been heaped onto you." Dean rolls his eyes and that motion alone has me slipping into annoyed aunt mode. "Dean Anthony Winchester, you are one of the best people I know and I'll be damned if I let you die when there's a way to stop it!"

"What about Marshall, huh? Didn't he deserve to live, too? I'm not special, Liza, and I don't want to be the cause of anymore deaths."

"Too goddamned bad because there are going to be future cases where we can't save anyone!" I take a deep breath, closing my eyes to try and calm down before I continue talking. "The point is that a lot of people would have died if you weren't here. I would still be in Oklahoma resisting the urge to hit my neighbor with a bat and Sammy would be bored in law school. We love you and we won't let you die peacefully."

I could see the tears gathering in Dean's eyes and the way he pressed his lips together to keep them from quivering, but he didn't blink the tears away as he pulled me against his chest in a bear hug. "I love you guys, too." He takes a moment to compose himself, clearing his throat a few times. "So how's it happening?"

"No clue," Sam answers," but remember how you said you saw an old man?"

"Yeah."

"Well, the guy that I talked to at the pool said that Marshall was running from something, so maybe you weren't hallucinating after all."

"Well, thanks for that, Sammy. That's a real confidence booster." Sam opens his mouth with a comment, but my text alert interrupts him. He pushes my phone over to me without even looking at the screen and I make a little  _aha_  sound when I read what Archer had sent me. "What is it?"

"Archer found the missing piece to our puzzle," I tell them," old Roy Le Grange has a Reaper doing his bidding. He's got it bound to him somehow and he's using it to heal people."

“Why would the Grim Reaper be doing Le Grange’s dirty work, though?” Dean shakes his head, taking my phone from me to reread the text as Sam begins to type away on his laptop. “I mean, isn’t it supposed to be super powerful.”

“It’s either super powerful or enslaved to two ten year olds that beat it in a limbo contest.” The look Sam sends me could have made milk curdle. “Okay, bad time for references to cartoons, but you get the damn picture.”

“You’re both wrong,” Dean states,” it’s not _the_ Reaper, it’s just _a_ Reaper. There’s lore of them in every culture and there’s hundreds of names for them, so they might be plural rather than singular. And besides….” He trails off, shuffling through the numerous papers spread out on the table. “Reapers stop time, just like the frozen clock at that pool Marshall Hall died at. I’d bet my right foot that all the other clocks near our victims froze, too. Plus, you can only see them when they’re coming at you, so that explains why I was the only one that saw Lurch.”

“What if Zane and Archer are wrong?”

“I seriously doubt it. The only thing we need to figure out right now is how Roy’s controlling the damn thing.”

“What about the cross,” Sam suggests. I arch a brow at him, silently urging him continue the train of thought. “I saw this weird cross in the church tent and it looked really familiar.” He grabs a deck of Tarot cards out of his bag, shuffling through them rapidly until he found the one he wanted and holding it out for me to take. I hold it up so Dean can see it too, spotting the funky looking cross in the top left corner.  It was yellow and contained inside a perfect circle, serving as the top piece of a staff.

“Are you going to read my palm, Sammy,” I ask with a hint of a smile, handing it back to him.

“Shut up, you’re just jealous you didn’t find it first.”

“Sorry, I was more worried about getting our idiot on stage to be healed rather than taking in the décor.”

“That’s enough,” Dean snaps, bringing up a hand to cover my mouth when I went to respond. “What does a Tarot card have to do with any of this. Jesus!” Dean pulls his hand away quickly, wiping it on his pants leg to get my saliva off. I have a smug grin on my lips this time, standing up and moving to stand behind Sammy’s chair.

“Alrighty, Sam, explain why your cross is on the Craigslist psychic cards.” With a frown, Sam flicks my hand before returning his gaze to his brother.

“Way back when,” Sam explains,” Christians used to use magic before they considered it taboo, but a few of them veered off the moral high ground and got into the dark stuff—necromancy, controlling death, pushing it away.”

“So Roy’s using the dark arts,” Dean asks, continuing at a nod from Sammy. “And he just found the spell to bind a Reaper to him, so everyone flocks to him like flies to honey.”

“Yeah, but the fly he’s controlling is more like a tornado that he’s trying to go Pecos Bill on.” With a groan at how stupid people were capable of being, I close my eyes and drop my head down on Sam’s shoulder. For once, just once, can’t we have a human case that isn’t them delving into some Voldemort type shit?

“Okay, so if we stop Roy and we stop all of this shit that’s going on.”

“Do you have a plan or are you just gonna make it up as you go along?”

“Bullet in the brain.”

“Uh, that’s called murder,” I point out, looking up sharply and finding Dean by the sink,” in case you didn’t remember, that’s kind of frowned upon by a majority of the populace.”

“He’s committed murders, I mean, we’re not even sure how many he’s got under his belt, so why shouldn’t we stop him permanently? Someone’s got to.”

“If we kill him, then we’re no better than he is,” Sam returns incredulously.

“Okay, so we can’t kill Roy and we can’t kill death, so how are you planning to stop all of this?”

“Break the spell.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, I don't actually know what Dean's middle name is, but I really wanted to use his full name so I came up with something I thought went nicely with it.


End file.
